











Book. _L< o i 4 


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CTOPXRIGHT DEPOSIT. 

















































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Laura Jean Libbey’s 

(TRADE MARK) 

LATEST AND GREATEST ROMANCE 

Wooden Wives 

IS IT A STORY FOR 

PHILANDERING HUSBANDS? 


By the Author of 

JIL-BETT 


Copyright 1923 by 
L. J. L. STILWELL 

Film, Dramatic and All Other Rights Reserved 
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 







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©C1A765327 



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Ktfi. Tsrxsf-t 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I —A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S LURING SMILE . 1 

II —IS LOVE NECESSARY WITH MARRIAGE? . . 19 

III — WHOM FIRST WE LOVE, WE SELDOM WED . 33 

IV — ARE MISFIT MARRIAGES EVER REMEDIED? 43 

V — KINDLING USELESS HOPES. 58 

VI — WEDDED LIFE’S BEGINNING. 65 

VII — THE MAN WHO HAS NEVER KNOWN LOVE, 

HAS NEED OF SYMPATHY .... 73 

VIII— —HOW LONG CAN MARRIAGE WITHOUT LOVE 

— ENDURE. 81 

IX- — AFTER ELECTION . 91 

X — WHEN HEARTS ARE DRIFTING APART . . 102 

XI — MISTRUST . 113 

XII — WHAT WILL A MAN NOT DO, FOR THE DAR¬ 
LING OF HIS HEART*' . 123 

XIII — WHEN A WOMAN FRIEND — PROVES FALSE 133 

XIV — IF THE HEART HARBORS DOUBTS AND 

FEARS. 144 

XV — WHEN JUDGMENT SAYS — NO ! .... 155 

XVI — lost! a husband’s confidence . . 165 

XVII — WHAT IS LIFE WORTH, IF WE LOSE THE 

ONE WE LOVE . . 175 

XVIII — THERE IS A DESTINY WHICH SHAPES OUR 

ENDS, ROUGH — HEW THEM AS WE MAY 185 

XIX —WHEN LIFE’S GOLDEN DREAMS ARE OVER . 195 

XX —CONSPIRACY AT SEA. 205 

iii 












IV CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI —FATE PUSHES THE BUTTON,—OPPORTU¬ 
NITY FINISHES THE JOB. 216 

XXII —EVERY HEART YEARNS FOR LOVE . . 226 

XXIII —WHEN THE HEART YEARNS FOR THE LOVE 

OF A LITTLE CHILD. 236 

XXIV —CHOOSING BETWEEN THEM. 247 

XXV —THE WEB OF FATE. 257 

XXVI —CAN ONE WHO HAS TRULY LOVED,—EVER 

FORGET ?. 267 

XXVII —THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD . . . 277 

XXVIII —LOVES TANGLED THREADS. 287 

XXIX —FORGET ME—IF YOU CAN. 298 

XXX —WHEN LOVE PLEADS. 308 

XXXI —WHEN LOVE HAS CONQUERED PRIDE AND 

ANGER. 315 










WOODEN WIVES 


CHAPTER I 

A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S LURING SMILE 

<c Where lives the man who has not tried, 

How mirth can into folly glide, 

And folly into sin .’ 1 

There are few, past the flush of early youth, who do 
not feel a keen sympathy for the erring wretch who 
besieged Heaven with the prayer:— 

“Oh, God, turn back the wheel of time,—and let me 
live my past again! ’ 9 

They are philosophers who resign themselves to the 
belief, human beings must go through the vicissitudes 
allotted to them at birth; that it is useless to fight 
against them, being unable to turn their course ever so 
little to undo what has been done, or divert what is 
feared might occur. 

They realize, no one can fore-tell what a day may 
bring forth; that the delights of today, are not those 
of tomorrow;—and the luscious apple of pleasure can 
turn to dead-sea-fruit on the lip;—each moment of 
existence being likened to grains of sand slipping 
through the hour-glass of Time;—a silent warning to 
make the most of life, love, hope, and joy while they 
tarry with us. 

It had^, been a busy morning in the law office of 

1 


2 


WOODEN WIVES 


Senator Rae, No—, Broadway, New York". The large 
clock pointed to five minutes to twelve —noon hour. 

The calendar on the desk of Edwards, chief clerk, 
contained a daily quotation; today it read:—“Ah, 
what a fatal web we weave, when first we practice 
to deceive.” He wondered if Boyd, his assistant, had 
observed it. 

“Huh! a guilty conscience needs no accuser,” he 
thought, as, without appearing to do so, he noted the 
uneasiness of his assistant, and the trembling of his 
hands as he counted the stack of bank-notes before 

him. 

Hugh Boyd was aware of Edwards’ scrutiny. Was 
it only his fancy, or was the old confidential clerk, 
who stood but a few paces away,—between him and 
the open safe,—watching him furtively out of the 
corner of his eye? He hadn’t turned a page, nor his 
back upon him for an instant during the past half 
hour. Edwards usually went out to luncheon first; 
today, he seemed to be lingering unnecessarily, much 
to the annoyance of his assistant, whose nerves seemed 
to be on edge on account of it. 

It was time for closing the safe, with the moneys 
deposited therein,—that day’s receipts. The situation 
was becoming desperate to Boyd. 

“Is it raining?” he queried, hoping to divert the 
other’s attention to the window—for ever so short a 
time. 

“No!” was the curt rejoinder, as Edwards turned, 
facing him squarely,—“Rain would spoil the racing at 
Belmont Park today, eh!” 


A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S LURING SMILE 3 

Boyd started visibly, grinding a silent imprecation 
between his white teeth; not trusting himself to reply. 
With swift ledgerdemain, at which he was an adept, 
he stacked the bank-notes together, crossing to the 
safe. 

Edwards bent forward, watching keenly, noting two 
five hundred dollar bills which had been on top of the 
pile, were shifted to the bottom. 

IT WAS TO BE AN UNEQUAL TEST OP AN OLD 
MAN’S VISION, AND A YOUNG MAN’S SKILL. 
Edwards could not tell if ALL the money went into 
the safe, or—if some —did not. “I will not lunch today, 
you can go as soon as you like,” he announced. 

Boyd hesitated, as though undecided; then, with a 
keen, penetrating glance at Edwards, bolted hurriedly 
for the door. 

Edwards’ eyes followed the young man until the 
door closed after him. Boyd had returned that morn¬ 
ing from his vacation; it annoyed Edwards that he 
should ask for that afternoon off—after he caught 
sight of the sporting page in the morning paper. 

His attention was called to a messenger, entering. 
“The report of the expert accountant, sir,” he said. 
There had appeared slight discrepancies on Boyd’s 
books. Senator Rae ordered they must be gone over 
during the assistant’s absence. 

As the senator was in Washington, it was Edwards’ 
duty to look over the report. As he ran his eye over 
it, consternation seized him;—Boyd’s books revealed 
an amazing defalcation. He realized he must summon 
the senator home at once because of it. 


4 


WOODEN WIVES 


He turned to the safe to close that first,—then drew 
back with a hoarse cry. Was he mad! — or, — dream¬ 
ing! the safe was—EMPTY. A package of the sen¬ 
ator’s stocks and bonds, totaling half a million,—a 
fortune in cash to close a real-estate deal, and a large 
sum in gold notes placed in the senator’s safe for safe¬ 
keeping by his friend Daniel Weslow, of Oklahoma, 
—to be called for that very afternoon—had—disap¬ 
peared. When and how had it occurred? Edwards 
stared aghast at the empty safe. Every'drop of blood 
in his veins seemed to turn suddenly to ice, his heart 
to stop beating. The contents of the safe had been 
intact when he placed a check therein, scarcely half 
an hour before. 

It had been rifled before his very eyes, despite his 
careful watching. Frenzied, he rushed to the door to 
apprehend Boyd; he was nowhere in sight. He rushed 
to the phone. The senator had just sat down to 
luncheon in the New Willard, in Washington. Ed¬ 
wards never afterward remembered in what words he 
told what had occurred. 

Senator Rae, answering, sensed at once, that nothing 
short of a calamity could put his confidential man in 
such a state of excitement. 

He replied he would be just In time to catch an out¬ 
going train, and on reaching New York, would come 
directly to the office. 

As the express whirled on to the metropolis, the 
senator had time aplenty—to think. The trouble had 
to do with Boyd’s books. Lately, he had heard 
whispers concerning the life his clerk was leading— 


A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S LURING SMILE 5 

frequenting cabarets, questionable resorts, race-tracks, 
etc., with companions of both sexes of unsavory 
repute. 

Boyd’s year would be up at the end of that month; 
he had made up his mind to dispense with his services 
then. His law-office was not the place for any em¬ 
ployee save a person of undoubted integrity. 

Meanwhile Edwards was pacing the office up and 
down with growing anxiety. Would it mean his dis¬ 
missal? He had served the senator faithfully and well 
from youth to old age. How was he to go home to 
his dear old wife—his sons, and daughters, and try 
to explain to them what had occurred;—that the valu¬ 
able contents of the safe, of which he had had charge, 
had vanished. Should he have taken it upon himself 
to send for the police and apprehend Boyd ere he 
could make a get-away from the city? 

Had he stepped to the window, and looked after 
his assistant, he would have seen that which would 
have added greatly to his anxiety. 

Boyd had but just reached the pavement ere he 
heard his name called from the direction of an auto¬ 
mobile a few rods away. 

One glance at the occupant, who was alighting from 
the car, and he sprang quickly to her side, exclaim¬ 
ing :—* * Pauline!—my darling !’ 1 

“Hughey!” returned Pauline Ttae, the senator’s 
daughter, “what an unexpected encounter; I did not 
know you were back.” 

He seized the girl’s hands holding them tightly 
clasped in his own. 


6 


WOODEN WIVES 


“I have but just gotten in, Pauline, and was on my 
way to the nearest booth to call you up, dear,” lied 
Boyd,—adding, “I was about to beg the opportunity 
of seeing you at the earliest possible moment. Fate 
was kind in answering my prayer.” 

The girl's dimpled face flushed with pleasure under 
his adroit flattery, and the spell of his dark eyes. At 
seventeen girls are not good judges of words that 
spring from the heart, or whether they are mere lip- 
service. 

“How radiantly charming you look, Pauline,” he 
murmured, his quick glance taking in every detail of 
the dainty white silk sports suit, white ties, and white 
sailor hat with the filmy white veil wound round it 
that half concealed,—and half revealed the bronze^ 
gold curls, and shading as pretty a pair of sparkling 
blue eyes as ever looked out from a rose-bud face. 

“Looking at you, so fair, so sweet, and lovable, I 
often almost doubt my senses, that I have been so 
fortunate as to have won your heart, Pauline.—It was 
so cruel that I dared not write you while I was away. 
I counted the hours until I should see you again, 
dear.” 

“Foolish boy!” laughed Pauline. “If you were 
undergoing that self-imposed unhappiness, you could 
not have enjoyed your vacation.” 

“You were not there,—how could I?” this reproach¬ 
fully. 

The truth of the matter was, he had not intended 
phoning to Pauline until the following day,—or let 
her know he had returned. 


A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S LURING SMILE 7 

Meeting her so unexpectedly was certainly a contre¬ 
temps he had not looked for;—while he talked, he 
was cogitating over some plausible excuse to break 
away from her, and beat it with all haste to the 
Belmont race-track which he had been bound for. 

As he expected, Pauline invited him to jump into 
the car for a spin around the park. “You do not 
know how it grieves me to be unable to go, dear,” he 
said, “the fact is, I am sent on a most important 
matter by Edwards,—and every moment is precious.” 

“Let me drive you to where you have to go, Hughey, 
we can talk as we ride,” she urged prettily. 

“We certainly cannot stand holding hands here,” 
he declared. “If your father heard of it, what a row 
the old curmudgeon would kick up! ” 

The color left the girl’s face, and the smile from her 
lips; she drew her hands hastily from his grasp, tears 
in her eyes. 

He realized his rash folly instantly; ere he could 
rectify it Pauline rebuked him in a voice freighted 
with emotion. 

“Don’t speak so of father,—you hurt me to the 
heart’s core. He is the dearest, noblest man in all the 
world. He has been father, mother, all to me; my 
happiness is dearer to him than anything else on 
earth.” 

“Depend upon it, Pauline, your father would never 
give you to me—a poor clerk in his employ; despite 
all he’s worth, he’d have you marry money—for in¬ 
stance that uncouth westerner—Weslow, he hob-nobs 
with.” 


8 


WOODEN WIVES 


The girl laughed heartily,—as only a young girl who 
has never known care or sorrow, can laugh, 4 ‘Mr. 
Weslow! ridiculous! why, he’s twice my age. His odd 
ways amuse me; but, as to marrying him,—oh, Hughey, 
how can you suggest such a thing. Neither father, or 
Mr. Weslow ever imagined any thing of the kind.” 

“I humbly beg your pardon, dear; a lady and a 
clown, as lovers, is preposterous. I’d be jealous of any 
man who admired you,” declared Boyd. 

His acquaintance with the little heiress had come 
about in this way: Needing a stenographer to aid 
him in preparing speeches which had to be made ready 
for immediate delivery, the senator had taken Boyd 
to his home evenings for the purpose; it did not occur 
to him that the handsome young man was, in this way, 
brought into contact with his young daughter. 

His mind was so crowded with legal complications, 
he lost sight of the fact that there is a natural attrac¬ 
tion between young people. From time immemorial 
they have looked, dreamed,—and—loved. 

The romance budded, and blossomed under Senator 
Rae’s nose, but he had not the slightest inkling of it. 

Mrs. Holt, an aged widow who presided over the 
widower’s palatial home soon noted Pauline’s interest 
in the young man, and disapprove^. of it. She had 
taken a dislike to Hugh Boyd, thoqgh she could have 
given no good reason for it, save lier woman’s intui¬ 
tion. It was simply a case of:— 

“I do not like you Doctor Fell, 

The reason why, I cannot tell ? ? ' 


A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S LURING SMILE 9 

The romance ripened quickly. Pauline had never 
realized she had a heart, ’till she was conscious of its 
loss. Tender, lingering glances and heart throbs led- 
to clinging hand-clasps,—then low spoken words, and 
notes hidden among flowers;—love-notes, as only a 
man adept at love-making could write;—and the mis¬ 
chief was done. They were sweethearts, yet dared not 
proclaim it, because Boyd feared the Senator’s wrath 
—when it came to making inquiries concerning the 
life he was leading. 

It was one thing to make love to a pretty, trusting 
young girl, but quite another to stand up before a 
cold, stern father, and have the temerity to ask for 
his daughter in marriage. Boyd knew better than to 
risk it. 

As he stood there, on the pavement, holding 
Pauline’s hands, and looking down into her blushing 
face, he was wondering which would be the better 
course to pursue,—ask her to marry him at once,—a 
case of Now or never,—or,—wait until after the races; 
—it would only be a question of a couple of hours or 
so difference. He had determined upon one course, 
and that was, to shake the dust of the city from his 
feet before sun-down. 

The chances were, Edwards would not open the safe 
the next morning, that day being a holiday and the 
banks closed. 

There would be a wild time after the safe was 
opened. He would give himself until sun-down-—not 
to think, or allow it to worry him. 


10 


WOODEN WIVES 


As he stood there cogitating, the call of the races 
was stronger than the desire to wed Pauline,—that 
could wait until afterward. 

Pauline was urging to take him to his destination, 
he concluded it would be wise to consent. “I cannot 
resist the temptation to be by your side, dear,” he 
responded, assisting her into the car and springing in 
after her. “You may take me over the Brooklyn 
Bridge, dropping me there, dear. I will reach it all too 
soon; I almost wish I hadn’t let you take me over,” he 
added a moment later, “it is maddening to be so near 
you, and restrain the impulse—” 

He stopped short suddenly, staring hard at a string 
of horses they were passing. “Good Lord! I’ll bet 
my hat that is Papyrus and Nev entered in today’s 
race!” he ejaculated excitedly. 

Pauline pouted, nettled at the thought that any¬ 
thing could divert from herself, his attention in the 
very midst of love-making. He was quick to see he 
had offended, and make amends, whispering all the 
tender, sentimental speeches very young girls, bewil¬ 
dered by their first romance, delight to hear. Mean¬ 
while, his eye was on every clock they passed; he could 
hardly conceal his impatience. He had intended to 
hurry to his room, divesting himself of everything in 
his pockets—except the cash. Meeting so unexpectedly 
with Pauline, changed his plan;—he would be obliged 
to take with him to the track,—about his person, 
valuable stocks and bonds. This bothered him,—but 
only for a moment, in the next, he was speculating 
over the result of his afternoon at the races. He had 


A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN'S LURING SMILE 11 

never been able to risk much, previously, but today, 
—ah! 

While he sat beside her, completely absorbed in 
brilliant anticipation, Pauline was chatting gaily, un¬ 
conscious of the fact she did not have a listener. In af¬ 
ter time, Boyd was intensely annoyed with himself for 
NOT having heard one word she had uttered. 

“Oh, Hughey!” Pauline was saying, “I must tell 
you of a young girl, just from Paris, who is coming to 
stay a few weeks w r ith me. YouTl be sure to like her, 
she’s so,—how shall I describe her,—different from 
other girls.” 

This was the only sentence he caught. He recovered 
himself with a start. “The girl from Paris will not 
interest me a particle,” he declared. “I spent my 
month’s vacation there two years ago, and was bored 
to death. You are the only girl on earth who has 
held, or ever will hold any interest for me, dear,— 
my own, my peerless Pauline.” 

“Do you mean you never admired, or took a liking 
to any girl but me?” she queried naively. 

“You have said it; you are my first, and will be my 
only love,” he declared without so much as the quiver 
of an eyelid as he boldly uttered the untruth, he whose 
amours had been legion; so many he could not recol¬ 
lect all the pretty women he had whistled down the 
wind, as he was wont to phrase it. He could scarcely 
refrain from bursting out into a hearty laugh as he 
noted how implicitly Pauline believed in him. 

“Just one word more, at parting, dear,” he whis¬ 
pered as he sprang out of the car. “Sometime this 


12 


WOODEN WIVES 


afternoon I shall send you a note in a bouquet, and the 
words will tell you the prayer in my heart/’ 

The next instant he was gone. Pauline turned her 
car homeward, her heart all in a flutter. 

As Boyd swung himself aboard the crowded express, 
which was just pulling out, he encountered his closest 
pal, Jack Reardon, a degenerate young lawyer who 
was also bound for the same objective point. He fairly 
gasped at the huge roll of bills Boyd produced when 
he reached the track. 

It was to be an international day in the annals of 
the turf. The most famous thorough-bred horses, 
kings and queens of the speed-world, had been as¬ 
sembled to take part in this, the greatest races that 
would be run this season. Boyd was wildly enthusias¬ 
tic over it. At last the great race of the day was on; 
Boyd had bet recklessly on the result, to the full 
extent of his pile—an amount which caused the oldest 
habitues of the track amazement, to say the least. 

There was much speculation as to whom he could 
be; no one seemed to know; they concluded he was 
some millionaire’s son who had just come into a for¬ 
tune. Usually, the first act of such youths was, to visit 
the race track, leaving much of their wealth there. 
Never was there a greater test of speed. The excite¬ 
ment was intense as the four horses started; shouts, 
yells, and plaudits of the spectators added to the tur¬ 
moil as the last lap was reached, and the two foremost 
horses, noses even, made the final dash for the pole; 
half a moment more—and it was over. Amid the wild 
tumult of shouts; Boyd had seen the horse he had 
wagered a fortune on,—lose. 


A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN'S LURING SMILE 13 

He staggered up to Reardon, whispering, “I'm 
wiped out!—broke!” 

“No use crying over spilled milk,” returned Rear¬ 
don tersely. 

“I’ve a trump-card to play,” whispered Boyd 
huskily, “I’ve got just enough cash left—to get mar¬ 
ried on—” 

Reardon interrupted him with a shriek of laughter. 

Without noticing the other's mirth, he went on:— 
“I want you to manage the affair for me, Reardon. 
Engage the minister of The Little Church Around The 
Corner, to be in his rectory at five-thirty this after¬ 
noon, to perform the ceremony. You will know how 
to meet the requirements of the licence bureau;—it 
must be 0. K.” 

Reardon gazed at him quizically, as though he quite 
believed he had taken leave of his senses. “You!— 
MARRY! ha!ha!ha!” he exploded. “Which beautiful 
woman, with the alluring smile, has put you in that 
notion? I did not suppose any of the beauts you and 
I have been traveling around with, was so foolish as to 
go down with a sinking ship! Do I know her?” 

“You do not know her. She's Pauline Rae—at pres¬ 
ent.” 

“An—elopement!—the daughter of Senator Rae!” 
gasped the astounded Reardon. Boyd nodded. 

“Holy smokes! Well, by the eternal, you sure are 
the luckiest of cusses!” ejaculated Reardon, “I believe 
if some one kicked you in th' gutter, you’d pick up 
a handful of gold-pieces lost there. You bet I’ll at¬ 
tend to the affair;—but,—say!—what's there in it for 
me, when you’re hitched to all that money!” 


14 


WOODEN WIVES 


“As Senator Rae’s son-in-law, I can put you on your 
feet again.’’ 

“If I ever do get up again, I’ll have a score to settle 
with one Daniel Weslow, my enemy, who got me dis¬ 
barred, out in Oklahoma because of a little deal I 
pulled off.” 

“So!—Weslow has put his oar in your affairs too , has 
he ? I did not know you knew him. He’s in love with 
the heiress, and Rae favors him—he came on from the 
west a few days ago, I hear.” 

“But the girl—” 

“Is in love with me,” cut in Boyd. If the senator 
had the least idea of it, he’d make it hot for me. Once 
tied to the girl, he can rage as much as he likes,—he 
cannot untie the knot. There are mighty urgent rea¬ 
sons, Reardon, why the marriage must take place this 
afternoon. By nightfall, I will have shaken the dust 
of New York from my feet! Pauline goes with me— 
she’ll be my—white flag, we’ll say.” 

Reardon remembered the roll of money Boyd had 
been possessed of when he came to the track, and 
made a shrewd guess—as to how he came by it. 

Boyd did not make a confidante of Reardon, regard¬ 
ing the turmoil that would ensue when Edwards 
opened the safe. It would rest between the two of 
them. Senator Rae would not be likely to accuse— 
HIM—on his daughter’s account, therefore, it would 
mean a long prison term for the old clerk who had so 
enraged him by his distrust, and careful espionage. 

At the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street Boyd 
and Reardon parted; the latter to attend to his mis- 


A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S LURING SMILE 15 

sion, while Boyd entered a near-by florist’s shop. He 
selected a small bunch of violets, Pauline’s favorite 
flowers;—in the heart of which, he slipped the follow¬ 
ing hastily penciled note:— 

“Pauline, my darling:—Meet me at once, at our 
usual rendezvous. No one suspects. Awaiting you, 
dear, with the utmost impatience, will be— 

Your lover—” 

Boyd smiled; he knew he could count on Pauline 
coming; she would not fail him. He would not have 
felt so complaisant about lingering until nightfall had 
he known what was taking place at that moment in 
Senator Rae’s private office. 

He had arrived in New York, and lost no time in 
reaching his office, and Edwards. One glance at his 
face, and he knew he must be prepared for an unusual 
denouement. 

When he learned the extent of the calamity which 
had befallen him, he sunk down on the nearest chair, 
gasping out, as he smote his desk with his clenched 
hand. “My God! Edwards such a loss will— ruin me! 
—my—client’s money!—my own stocks and bonds,— 
and such a large sum belonging—to—Weslow! Sum¬ 
mon the police without a moment’s delay; put the case 
in their hands, giving them all the information you 
can, concerning it;—I will talk with the chief later. 
Leave me alone to think it out.” As Edwards reached 
the door, he called sharply after him:—“You have no 
time to lose; this fellow Boyd has hours the start of 
us.” 


16 


WOODEN WIVES 


Both heard a voice in the outer office. 

“It is Daniel Weslow,” whispered Edwards in trepi¬ 
dation. 

“He has come for his—money! Tell him to call 
later/’ Senator Rae muttered hoarsely—his old clerk 
quitted the room, hurriedly. 

Left to himself the senator dropped his head in his 
hands with a mighty groan. From out of a clear sky, 
ruin had fallen upon him. The large sum of money 
Boyd probably used, to make a speedy get-away. The 
stocks and bonds he might secrete for years,—or ruth¬ 
lessly destroy, if he found difficulty in disposing of 
them. Which ever way he looked at it, disaster stared 
him in the face. At that moment of desperation, 
through his confused brain came the remembrance, 
that, in a secret drawer in the desk,—was—a weapon. 

His groping hand reached out toward it. 

Edwards put in his head at the door which he had 
forgotten to get up and lock, saying:—“Mr. Weslow 
insists upon seeing you, sir.” His gaze lingered pity¬ 
ingly on his employer. It hurt him to the heart’s core 
to see the grand old senator with his splendid dignity 
and pride,—crushed, and in so pitiable a condition— 
he was frightened. 

“What word shall I take Mr. Weslow, sir,” he 
asked. As he spoke, and ere the senator could reply, 
a tall form loomed up in the door-way behind Edwards 
and a cheery voice exclaimed:— 

“I took the liberty of following in,—I’m in a mighty 
big hurry, senator,” said Daniel Weslow, advancing. 

Summoning all of his will-power to his aid, Rae 


A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S LURING SMILE 17 

nodded, forcing a smile to his lips as he attempted to 
rise, and hold out his hand. 

“Not feeling well?” queried Weslow, grasping, and 
shaking it heartily, then seated himself in a chair 
opposite:—“I’m mighty sorry to see you in this way; 
can I do anything for you?” 

Rae shook his head. “Only a bad spell; I get them 
once in a while.” 

“I won’t stay long to bother you, senator,—saying 
my say in a few words:—It’s just this, sir:—there’s a 
mighty fine property out my way, going under th’ 
hammer this afternoon—within an hour’s time. I’m 
aiming to buy it,—paying cash down—by telegraph. 
It’ll be a mighty fine wedding present—for Pauline,— 
from me. Now senator,” he went on energetically, 
“you’ve done all th’ courting ’tween your daughter 
an’ me; mebbe it’s as you say; they do it that way in 
th’ east, but I’m blamed if I don’t like our western 
way best. Out there in God’s country, a man has no 
use for a go-between to help him to marry th’ girl he 
picks out. You’ve let me understand, often enough, 
^Pauline’s going to marry me when you say th’ word, 
an’ I’m asking you to say it right now. I go back west 
day-after-tomorrow, an’ aim t’take Pauline back with 
me—Mrs. Daniel Weslow. 

“I know I’m a great, husky, thirty-five year-older, 
not half good enough for your little girl, but I tell 
you this, sir:—the hour she marries me, J’m going to 
put everything I own in God’s world right into her 
little white hand,—signed right over to her. She’s the 
world to me. I never dreamed a man could love a 


18 


WOODEN WIVES 


girl so much, leastways, that I ever could. Why, she 
could walk right over my heart rough-shod; Pauline 
could have my heart’s blood, every drop of it, if she 
wanted it.—that tells you how dear she is to me. She 
shall not miss anything by going from you, to come 
to me. She’ll not be exchanging a great love for a 
lesser one.—Life is empty to me without her; I can’t 
stand this any longer.—That’s what has brought me 
from the far west so unexpectedly.—Don’t keep us 
apart any longer sir.” 

Senator Rae leaned back heavily in his seat, grip¬ 
ping the arms of his chair tensely;—his face had 
grown ashen, his lips twitched. 

“Come up to the house tomorrow, and we’ll talk it 
over, Weslow,” he said huskily, his voice sounding 
scarcely human. 

Daniel Weslow arose, gazing at him in alarm; he 
could see the senator was very ill. “I’m bringing in 
a doctor to look you over—within half an hour,” he 
said. “Do the thinking about my buying the place 
I spoke of by that time; Ill be wanting the money; 
tell Edwards. It’s a mighty fine place. I’ll bet it’ll 
please Pauline. We westerners work hard for what 
we want, an’ we rush things. Why not let us marry 
to-day? Think that over too. They do say, delays are 
dangerous, you know.” 

Senator Rae watched Weslow with feverish intent¬ 
ness as he swung out of the door in his breezy western 
fashion, then, his shaking hand crept slowly toward 
the secret drawer. 


CHAPTER II 


IS LOVE NECESSARY WITH MARRIAGE? 

* 1 Sigh no more, lady—sigh no more! 

Men were deceivers ever. 

One foot on sea, and one on shore, 

To one girl constant never.” 

When Pauline arrived home, Mrs. Holt, informed her 
the young lady she was expecting, was in the drawing¬ 
room. The tall, dark-eyed young person who came eag¬ 
erly forward from the bay-window to greet her, startled 
her with her loveliness. She was almost a stranger to 
Pauline, her presence there came about in an unusual 
way:— 

A fortnight before, Pauline had gone down to the 
wharf to greet a girl-friend arriving from abroad. She 
had been introduced to a young woman,—her friend had 
met on ship-board, who gave out that she was coming 
to America to procure employment connected with art?, 
or something of that kind. Later, Pauline received a 
tear-stained note from her stating, as she had failed to 
find employment, and her funds had about given out, 
she would be obliged to go back to France. 

Pauline’s girl-friend being away, she had written to 
her, of her great disappointment, and to bid her Adieu. 
Pauline took the letter to her father, importuning him 
to allow her to invite the young girl to her home. In 
19 


20 


WOODEN WIVES 


the end, Pauline had her way, and she wrote immediate¬ 
ly to the yonng girl to—‘‘come and visit her as long as 
she liked. ’ ’ 

The art-student from France, telegraphed her accept¬ 
ance, and that she would arrive the following day. 

“Oh, how dear and sweet it was of you to open your 
wonderful heart, and your beautiful home to me,” she 
murmured, catching Pauline’s hand, and caressing it 
impulsively, “How can I ever show my gratitude,— 
ever love you enough to prove it! ” 

“You are not to try,” laughed Pauline, who was 
easily flattered. At the time Pauline had met her at 
the wharf, she had not noticed that this young girl 
was anything like as good looking as she now found her 
to be. She remembered that she remarked she had been 
sea-sick all the way over,’’ that accounted for it. “I am 
glad to have you with us, Mile Valleau,” she added. 

“Wont you call me, Marcelle, and let me call you 
Pauline?” breathed the French girl, the dark, splendid 
eyes looking pleadingly into the lovely blue ones. 

“I should like it, by all means,” declared Pauline, 
her heart warming to the agreeable young stranger. 

When two young girls “take to each other,” their 
friendship is usually of rapid growth, knowing more of 
each other in an hour, than older women do in long 
months, often years of acquaintance. 

Young girls are wont to confide in each other, be¬ 
coming bosom-friends at once. These two girls were on 
such confidential terms, that within half an hour, as 
they sat cuddled up on the sofa together, Marcelle, had 
confided to her new-found friend, that the reason she 


IS LOVE NECESSARY WITH MARRIAGE? 21 

had been so eager to leave her dear France, was on 
account of an unreciprocated romance. 

“I should like so much to hear about it,” sympathized 
Pauline, her coloring heightening, as she thought of her 
own romance,—but, unlike this girl’s, her love was 
reciprocated by her Hughey. 

With a sigh on her lips, Marcelle murmured:—‘'Just 
a year ago, I met, in Paris, a young man, handsome, 
clever; a rapid wooer, soon he proposed marriage. I 
was deeply fascinated, consenting. In almost the same 
breath, he asked me,—how much money I would bring 
a husband. When I told him that I was earning my 
own living, and had but a modest sum laid by,—he 
looked the—anger in his heart. He borrowed my 
savings, saying he would return it doubled, at the end 
of the week;—instead, I received a note from him saying 
he was leaving France within the hour; that he had 
imagined I had wealth; he could not wed a poor girl, 
being without money himself.” 

In that instant I felt for him only the bitterest con¬ 
tempt ; I had been robbed as well as befooled. 

That night I crept out on a bridge where the water 
was deepest and swiftest to decide what I should do. A 
strolling band of gipsies was crossing;—one grasped my 
arm; I screamed for aid, a pedestrian, crossing the 
bridge came quickly to my assistance—hewing down my 
assailants with every lunge of his powerful arm. They 
fled. 

“Whom may I thank for this timely assistance?” I 
asked. “A smile lit up his strong, rugged face. 
“Never you mind, little girl,” he answered, “just con¬ 
sider me only a rough man,—but I aim never to turn 


22 


WOODEN WIVES 


my back on a woman in distress.” He had not even 
taken the trouble to glance at me, and was turning 
away when I queried: — “Are you not an — American?” 
He nodded assent. 

“A prairie man.” 

With that, in a few swinging strides he was out of 
sight. I have seen his face in my dreams ever since. 
I do not know his name. Call me a foolish girl if you 
like, but, somehow, when I set sail for America, there 
was a hope in my heart I could not banish, that, al¬ 
though your country is so big — fate, destiny, call it 
what you will,—may bring us together. 

“I sincerely hope so.” They say: — “Whatever is to 
be, will be,” encouraged Pauline. 

The chiming of the clock in the corridor reminded 
Pauline it was four o ’clock, and she must drive down to 
the office for a package of books. One was a French 
romance, and in that language. Marcelle would help 
her translate it. As they discussed it, she would in turn 
tell Marcelle of her own romance, how dearly Hughey 
loved her, and how fearful they were of her father’s 
anger—and all because her dear Hughey—was poor. 
Just as if that mattered. 

Excusing herself, and bidding her new friend rest 
until her return, Pauline ran hastily down the steps 
to her waiting car. She had just entered it when 
Boyd’s bunch of violets was placed in her hand by the 
florist’s boy. She found the note at once. With beat¬ 
ing heart, she ran her eyes over it :—‘ 4 Pauline, my darl¬ 
ing:—meet me at our usual rendezvous. No one sus¬ 
pects our secret. Awaiting you, with the utmost impa¬ 
tience, will me,—Your lover- » 


IS LOVE NECESSARY WITH MARRIAGE? 23 

The note bore no signature, it needed none. Pauline 
was amused at the word rendezvous, which made it 
appear they had been meeting each other by appoint¬ 
ment,—which was not the case. Hughey had always 
managed to happen along just as she was about to enter 
the park and she had been pleased to invite him for a 
spin around it. 

The girl smiled as she started her car. Yes, she 
would go first to the office for the books, then pick up 
Hughey for an hour through the park. He had never 
before written quite such an urgent note; why did he 
wish to see her so particularly!—what if he meant—to 
—propose! 

She planned in what words she would consent;—but, 
—gaining her father’s would be a difficult matter? He 
might be against handsome, dapper Hughey, his idea of 
the sort of man he would like for a son-in-law being a 
man on the order of—the westerner, as she dubbed 
Daniel Weslow. 

He had gone so far as to intimate to Pauline that he 
would assure the westerner she would accept him, if he 
could influence her to do so. Pauline had laughed, be¬ 
lieving it to be one of the Senator’s jokes, and thought 
no more of it. 

She drove leisurely toward the office, little suspecting 
how her call there was to end. 

The Senator sat motionless, just as Weslow had left 
him! In that dread hour he realized what he had 
done in allowing Weslow to dream on in a fool’s para¬ 
dise, of that, which, in all probability, would never 
take place. 


24 


WOODEN WIVES 


He had a profound respect for Daniel Weslow; not 
only for his sterling qualities as a right living, honest, 
honorable man, but for his ability to accumulate a for¬ 
tune, and not lose his head and his good sense in not 
squandering it. He knew, too, wine and women were 
not his failings. "Weslow had worked his way up—a 
cow-boy, then engineer on the Rocky Mountain Express. 
He was in the rush for the Pike’s Peak gold fields. He 
traded his stake for a plot of ground in Texas. A week 
later oil had been discovered on it, and he found himself 
a man of wealth over night. Then he bought an 
Oklahoma ranch. He might have had a peaceful enough 
life of it if business had not brought him east, and to 
Senator Rae. 

Life was never the same to him after he met his 
daughter, Pauline. It was a case of attraction at first 
sight. He went back to his ranch in Oklahoma,—but 
he left his heart behind him. 

As Senator Rae sat there, going over the matter, he 
felt he had done Weslow a great injustice in permitting 
him to hope for Pauline’s love when he had not a 
chance. He was not the type of man that would appeal 
to her,—young girls were incapable of placing the true 
value of a diamond in the rough. Weslow had been 
investing so heavily in speculations in which the senator 
was interested, that he made light of what he Considered 
the westerner’s passing fancy. When Daniel Weslow 
confided to him his desire to marry his daughter, he was 
answered by an amused smile, but not a denial, he took 
the matter for granted. The state of affairs was defi¬ 
nitely settled in his mind when, from the far west he 


IS LOVE NECESSARY WITH MARRIAGE? 25 

sent Pauline a book of views of Yellow Stone Park, for 
which she had written a polite note of thanks, signing it, 

“ Yours, Pauline.” 

Prom the receipt of this note Daniel Weslow lived in 
a fool’s paradise,—considering himself betrothed to the 
senator’s daughter. 

He wrote every week to the senator, but more than 
one-half of each letter, had to do with Pauline who had 
written him—“Yours, Pauline.” 

“When I say the word, you can talk to Pauline about 
it, not before,” was always the senator’s reply. He felt 
quite sure that time, and being brought into contact 
with some attractive western girl, would cause Weslow 
to forget his infatuation for his daughter. 

He had been amazed at the hold love had taken upon 
this strong man’s heart. This complicated matters. 
How was he to tell him of the loss of the large sum, in 
cash, that had been placed with him for safe-keeping, 
and in the next breath ruthlessly destroy his hopes of 
winning and wedding his daughter. Ah,—if Pauline 
could only have loved this man! In this hour; he 
wished it as ardently as Weslow did. 

There was not one chance in a thousand that the 
stolen stocks and bonds would be recovered, which made 
it impossible to reimburse the clients whose money was 
in his hand. Disaster lay before him.—He could die 
content if Pauline was Weslow’s wife. 

A spasm of intense pain shot through his heart; for 
the instant he thought he was dying. How could he 
die and leave his beloved child to face all this. 

“Pauline! Pauline!” he cried; as if in answer to Ms 


26 


WOODEN WIVES 


mortal call,—Pauline, bright, joyous and smiling, danced 
merrily into the office. 

She had come for her books, and was delighted to 
find her father there. “You dear old darling!” she 
exclaimed, bounding to his side, and throwing her arms 
about him with a bear like hug,—‘ ‘ back sooner than you 
expected! Did I hear you calling my name?” 

His arms closed about her; he pressed her closely to 
his convulsively beating heart. “Yes, yes, dear!” he 
murmured, drawing her down to his knee, I want you, 
I called you, I need you;—I—was having one of my 
spells.” 

“Oh, poor papa!” sobbed the girl in alarm, “I must 
send for a doctor!” 

The senator put his hand quickly over her lips. 

“You will do me more good than any doctor; I am 
glad you are come, I want so much to talk to you, my 
child.” 

In as few words as he could command, he told her, 
not explaining how, or by whom,—that a dire loss had 
just come to him which he could not tide over,—and of 
the large sum of money which Weslow had left with 
him for safe-keeping, and—that Weslow had just come 
on from the west, for the express purpose of asking her 
to marry him. He had asked permission of him if he 
might woo, and wed her,—and, he added in a tense 
whisper—HE HAD GIVEN HIS CONSENT.” 

Pauline flung his arms from about her, springing to 
her feet, in anger such as he had never could have 
imagined her capable of. 

“You gave YOUR consent, but what about ME! 


IS LOVE NECESSARY WITH MARRIAGE ? 27 

How dared you do such a thing!” she panted. “I was 
the one to have been consulted, and to tell him that I 
would NOT marry him,—no, not even if he were the 
last man on the earth. I would as soon think of tieing 
myself to one of the Indians who roams the western 
plains—as that uncouth westerner! ’ 9 

He held up his hand deprecatingly, to stem the tor¬ 
rent of her rage, but it was quite useless. “You would 
learn to love him, in time; his noble nature could not 
help but impress you, dear,” he persisted earnestly. 

“Love goes where Heaven directs!” retorted Pauline 
warmly. 

“My child,” he said—“You are as yet, heart whole, 
and fancy free; you have had no lover, you do not 
realize what a treasure is Weslow’s affection, rough 
diamond as he is; he could win your love with oppor¬ 
tunity—and time.” 

Pauline, whom he had though of only as a child, 
crested her golden head defiantly, answering: “You 
are in error; I HAVE a lover!—and I will never marry 
any one else.” 

The words rang out like the clanging of discordant 
bells, falling like a crash on her father’s ears. r At that 
instant, the note from Boyd which Pauline had thrust 
into the bosom of her dress, became dislodged, fluttering 
down—landing directly in the senator’s lap. Both he 
and Pauline made an instantaneous grab for it; his 
hand closed over it first. 

To his astonishment, she grew furiously excited, at¬ 
tempting to grapple with him for its possession. He 
held her off firmly with his left hand; with his right, 


28 


WOODEN WIVES 


he smoothed out the crumpled slip, his eye, at the same 
time, running over its contents. 

Then—he rose slowly to his feet in mighty wrath, still 
clutching the girl firmly with his left hand, raising the 
other as though he would strike her. His eyes which 
had never before been turned upon her save in gentle¬ 
ness, and love, were glaring down upon her like living 
coals of fire;—the veins on his face and neck stood out 
like whip-cords, his face was livid, the breath coming 
in gasps from his purple lips. 

Pauline cowered from him. Was this man, the in¬ 
carnation of a mighty fury, the loving parent who had 
worshipped her so fondly and devotedly, all the years 
of her young life? In a frenzy, the like of which she 
had never before beheld, he cried hoarsely:— 

“Who is this man, that my daughter, whom I thought 
as innocent of guile as a babe,—has stolen out of my 
house to meet clandestinely! What is the damnable 
secret between you to which he refers? Answer me, 
girl, or I will wring it from your lips by force if I can 
get it in no other way!” 

“Father!” sobbed Pauline, shrinking from this ap¬ 
parition of mighty anger, “I—I—cannot tell you; and 
—and—betray the man I love! 77 

His talon-like grip tightened on her arm; the pain of 
it was intense but she made no moan, or cry, though her 
face grew pale as death. 

“Speak !’ 7 thundered the senator, his right hand 
creeping toward the unused drawer; as he jerked it 
open, her horrified eyes beheld what it contained. She 
realized she must speak, to avert—a tragedy. 


IS LOVE NECESSARY WITH MARRIAGE Y 29 

“It is—Hugh Boyd, father!” she whispered. She 
got no further. She had thought her father’s rage ter¬ 
rible before, but it was as nothing compared to the 
awful frenzy which possessed him at the mention of that 
name. 

“Boyd!—the thief! the traitor who has just ruined 
me! The villain who, at this moment is fleeing to escape 
the police—and prison!” 

“I do not believe you, father!—it is false. He is not 
guilty of a crime. It is not true!” 

“Boyd is a thief, gambler, libertine!” went on the 
senator, bringing his clenched fist down hard on his 
desk. “He is all that is most foul and dishonorable. 
You, girl, are the first Rae, to bring shame upon that 
noble name. I will meet Boyd face to face,—and it will 
be either his life, or mine, so help me God!” 

11 Father! ’ ’ shrieked Pauline, you do not realize what 
you are saying!” She saw his fingers close over the 
weapon. He drew it forth transferring it to his pocket, 
where his hand, clutching it, rested. 

“Boyd will be swept from your path,—for all time,— 
I shall see to it that the prison doors will close after 
him; then you will know him as the scoundrel he is. In 
good time you will recover your senses, then you will 
comply with my one great desire; that which I make my 
prayer to you—marry Daniel Weslow.” 

Ere she could utter the defiant rejoinder that rose to 
her lips, the senator’s hand suddenly loosened its liPlcT^ 
he reeled backward, a thin stream of blood trickling 
from his lips. 

Pauline’s terrified cries brought Edwards quickly, 


30 


WOODEN WTVES 


also Weslow and the doctor who had at that moment 
arrived. 

“My arrival is most opportune,” said Dr. Mead, 
opening his case hurriedly. Daniel Weslow crossed to 
Pauline, grasping her trembling hands, holding them 
closely in his strong ones, silently. In that moment 
words did not come to him. 

Pauline broke away from him, flinging herself at her 
father’s feet, clinging convulsively to his knees. Daniel 
tried to raise her, gently. Her grief was like the stab 
of a knife in his heart. 

“He has had a severe shock,” announced the doctor, 
adding, “his life hangs on a single thread.” 

“Oh, what would become of me if anything were to 
happen to Papa! ’ ’ sobbed Pauline, wringing her hands 
in terror. She knew she had been the cause of the shock 
which had placed her father in this grave situation. 

“You would be my care, Pauline,” said Weslow bend¬ 
ing over her tenderly, laying his strong hand on her 
bowed head. 

Both he, and the doctor, saw the stricken man’s eyes 
follow this action. They knew, as did Pauline, who was 
looking up into his face, that he heard, understood, and 
approved, though his lips refused to articulate. 

“If it be your wish, senator, I will marry Pauline,—if 
she agrees, here and now, that you. may know she has a 
protector to love and care for her—if a great—grief 
came to her,” said Weslow earnestly. 

There was no mistaking the answer in the burning, 
eager gaze the stricken man raised to Daniel Weslow’s 


IS LOVE NECESSARY WITH MARRIAGE? 31 

face, the blood-flecked lips making a valiant effort to 
smile a glad assent. 

“You SEE, Pauline/’ said Daniel gravely, pointing 
to her father. “It is clearly evident to me—that is his 
desire,” remarked the doctor. 

Pauline had risen slowly to her feet, and was watching 
her father intently. 

By the greatest effort the senator turned that pleading 
gaze—that seemed to burn into her very soul, first to 
Weslow,—then to her. She sensed—he was praying 
her to consent to marry Daniel Weslow then and there, 
—she—whose heart, every throb of it,—he knew—be¬ 
longed to another. 

Doctor Mead stepped to her side. “You hold your 
father’s life in your hand,” he said, “you see it is his 
wish.” 

“You mean—if I refuse—it would cause my—father’s 
death!” she breathed hoarsely—“if—I—marry Mr. 
Weslow, you believe—the witnessing of it,—would save 
him—he would—live ? ’ ’ 

He nodded, “a great joy has in many instances ac¬ 
complished this result.” Pauline’s head drooped on her 
breast for a moment;—a moment in which she went 
through an agonizing life time of woe. Her lips moved 
but no sound came from them. “Good-bye—love—hope 
—and all the joys that make life worth living,” she was 
murmuring; “oh, Heaven pity me, I cannot see my 
father die ,—when I can save him.” She rose slowly 
from her knees, bent over, and kissed the senator’s 
pallid cheek, her own being equally as pale. 

“Do you hear me? can you understand, father?” she 


32 


WOODEN WIVES 


sobbed piteously—“Your life shall be spared at any 
cost;—I—will—marry Mr. Weslow here—and—now.” 

When Senator Eae heard her decision, something very 
like a glory broke over his face. The doctor pointed 
to it, both Pauline and Weslow saw it. The girl sank 
down burying her face on her father’s shoulder. Daniel 
Weslow did not know the supreme sacrifice she had 
made. Smiling, he was repeating below his breath, lines 
he had somewhere read:— 

‘ 1 She is mine own; 

And I as rich in having such a jewel 
As twenty seas; if all their sands were pearl, 

The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. ’ * 


CHAPTER III 


WHOM FIRST WE LOVE, WE SELDOM WED 

“The bond that links onr souls together 
Will it last through stormy weather? 

Will it stretch if Fate divide us, 

When dark and weary hours have tried us? 

O, if it look too poor and slight, 

Let us break the links tonight / 7 

Hugh Boyd stood at the Park entrance, watch in 
hand. It was fully half an hour past the time Pauline 
should have been there; he wondered what detained her 
on this occasion of all others. He had worked himself 
up to such a nervous pitch, he could endure the suspense 
no longer, and decided to go to the house. He believed 
the senator to be in Washington, therefore did not 
trouble himself as to what excuse he should make. 

Hailing a passing taxi, in ten minutes time he was at 
his destination. 

The butler who admitted him did not know Pauline 
had gone out. He heard Boyd order the chauffeur to 
wait, and thought as he glanced at the dapper young 
clerk, that he must have money to burn to indulge in 
such extravagance. 

Boyd made his way quickly to the drawing-room; as 
he entered, he saw a slight girlish figure in Pauline’s 
favorite chair, and stepped quickly forward. “My 
darling, my own Pauline!” he cried throwing prudence 
33 


34 


WOODEN WIVES 


to the winds and gathering her swiftly into his arms, 
“why are yon still her while the most precious moments 
of our lives are rushing by. I have determined we must 
be married within this hour my love. Get your wraps 
quickly, I have a taxi at the door, I-” 

The girl struggled out of his embrace with a low 
laugh. 

The voice seemed strangely familiar,—but—it was 
NOT—Pauline’s. 

She had been in the shadow of the dark room; she 
turned deliberately to the window, drawing the heavy 
draperies aside, exclaiming, as she did so, “Hugh 
Boyd!” 

The light fell full upon her face. He recoiled as 
though she had struck him a blow with that white hand 
of hers. “Valleau—Marcelle—Valleau!” he echoed, 
“What—are—YOU—doing here? I—could almost be¬ 
lieve my eyes are deceiving me,—I—am—so astound¬ 
ed!” 

“Not more so than I am at encountering—YOU— 
HERE. I do not have to inquire your purpose—you 
have just disclosed it. Heiress hunting seems to be your 
occupation . 9 y 

“You have followed me here from France!” he 
cried, seizing her roughly by the arm, his face fairly 
livid with rage. 

She wrenched herself free from his grasp with a scorn¬ 
ful laugh. 

“You are wrong;—I had no hope of ever running 
across you again; this meeting is purely accidental,— 
but none the less interesting. 


WHOM FIRST WE LOVE, WE SELDOM WED 35 

“What brought you here—into THIS house!” he re¬ 
peated angrily, “answer me,—I WILL know;—YOU— 
Yalleau, the cabaret dancer—in the home of—Senator 
Eae,—and, apparently, on intimate terms here. “YOU, 
the talk of Paris.” 

“You need not repeat all that, I heard you the first 
time,” she sneered with a laugh not pleasant to hear, 
but I might as well appease your intense curiosity. A 
few words sufficed to explain the situation. 

“I do not know how you succeeded in gaining an 
entre into this home, and into the affections of the 
daughter of the house; I see you are up to your same old 
trick, endeavoring to arrange a hasty marriage.—This is 
where I get the best of you, Hugh Boyd,—You skipped 
from Paris with my savings of years;—now,—you shall 
meet the penalty. 

To her intense surprise, he drew from his breast 
pocket a roll of bills, counting out twice as much as the 
sum she complained of being fleeced out of. “Here is 
your money, and double the amount. I am really not as 
bad as you think me; I intended to cable that amount to 
you, to Paris,—today.” 

She looked the amazement she felt. 

‘ 1 That is the proof of it, is it not ? ” he queried, point¬ 
ing to the bills in her hand. She could not help but 
assent that it certainly appeared so. 

“You and I cannot afford to quarrel, Mareelle,” he 
said. “I will make it worth your while to hold your 
tongue concerning—me,—and I promise no word from 
my lips shall disclose to this household they are enter¬ 
taining Yalleau, the toast of Paris;—Though WHY you 


36 


WOODEN WIVES 


are here, is still a mystery to me; that is of course, your 
secret, and no affair of mine. The cash I have just 
given you, squares us with each other, does it not ? ’ ’ she 
nodded. 4 ‘We may be helpful to each other in the 
future, Marcelle,” he added eagerly. “I may need 
you; I don’t know how, yet;—the future will determine. 
There is no question of sentiment between you and me— 
now.” He looked at her inquiringly. 

“You are right,” she replied. “I laugh at the notion 
I ever imagined you could be anything to me. I know 
what you want;—you would have me use my influence 
to aid you in winning the heiress Pauline Rae! ’ ’ 

He nodded. “I will make it worth your while. I 
am here to see her now—” 

“She is not in;—she went off in her car over an hour 
ago! ” “ Good Lord!—I have missed her! ’ ’ He turned 
and was just about to rush from the room when he heard 
a great commotion in the corridor. The next instant 
Mrs. Holt, the housekeeper, came hurriedly into the 
room. 

“You wish to see Miss Pauline,” she said, addressing 
Boyd, “that will be impossible; I might as well tell you 
the great, and joyful news 

Edwards telephoned me a moment ago that she has 
just been wedded to Mr. Daniel Weslow. The bride and 
groom, and her father are on their way here; I expect 
they will arrive any moment.” 

Boyd did not lose an instant in getting out of the 
house and into the waiting taxi. “To my rooms!” he 
cried excitedly; I’ll double your money if you get me 
there inside of ten minutes. 


WHOM FIRST WE LOVE, WE SELDOM WED 37 

The chauffeur nodded, reaching the street and number 
within the time. “Wait here for me,” he said, spring¬ 
ing out of the taxi;—‘ ‘ I want to make the night boat for 
Boston; Ill be back in a moment.’’ “You have just 
eighteen minutes sir.” 

Boyd had not an instant to think over the why or 
wherefore of the most astounding occurrence. He had 
played desperately—and lost. His next move was to 
hustle his belongings into a suit-case—and beat it. He 
had wealth enough about him to take him as far away as 
he might care to go. He ran up the steps three at a 
time, muttering:—“Bah! what do I care for the loss of 
a fool girl;—the world’s full of ’em;—but the money! 
was there ever such cursed luck.” 

He fitted his key in the lock hastily, flinging open the 
door. In his great haste he forgot his usual caution of 
closing and securing it. He did not see the two blue- 
coated forms that followed close behind him, slipping 
unobserved into a curtained alcove. 

Boyd rushed across the room to a closet, taking from 
it a suit case which he opened hurriedly, laying it upon 
the table. In a trice he threw the contents of his 
bulging pockets into it,—stacks of stocks, bonds and 
bundles of bank-notes. 

As he rushed to the wardrobe to grab a suit of clothes, 
a sportive breeze from an open window caught up the 
loosened pile of bank notes lying on top, scattering them 
about the room in all directions. 

A fierce imprecation, over this delay broke from 
Boyd’s lips as he stooped to gather them up, which 
changed instantly to one of fright as a heavy hand came 


38 


WOODEN WIVES 


down on his shoulder and he was jerked forcibly to his 
feet, to look up into the face of a stalwart policeman. 

In an instant he had formulated a plan of action,— 
while the one officer was engaged in gathering up the 
money, he struggled with the other about the room until 
he came abreast of the open window, then, quick as a 
flash, and before his adversary had time to realize his 
intention, Boyd had divested himself of his coat, sprang 
through it, shutting it down with a bang. 

He knew by the policeman’s cry of pain, that it had 
closed on his fingers of both hands, holding them there 
with a grip. No one save himself knew how that trick 
window opened;—they would have to break it sash and 
all, to set him free;—that would take time. 

It was but the work of a moment to make his way 
down the fire-escape to the street, and the waiting cab. 

Hatless, coatless, how could he board the Boston boat 
in that condition! All the cash he had was in his 
trousers pocket. He found that it amounted to a couple 
of hundred dollars or more. On his way to his destina¬ 
tion he must pass the little Church Around the Corner; 
as he expected, Reardon was standing on the pavement, 
waiting patiently for him. 

It took but a moment to stop the taxi, and drag his 
surprised friend into it. A few words explained the 
dire situation. 

Boyd stepped from the cab wearing Reardon’s suit. 
During the ride he had managed, despite the swaying 
of the vehicle, to divest himself of the very handsome 
moustache which had been his pride. 

“I say Boyd, your own mother wouldn’t know vou*” 


WHOM FIRST WE LOVE, WE SELDOM WED 39 

approved Reardon as the former stepped out of the taxi 
at the wharf. “Ill keep you posted as to further hap¬ 
penings, get at the bottom, as to how Weslow put this 
over on you, with the heiress .’ 7 

An imprecation ground out between Boyd’s white 
teeth, was his only answer. Boyd boarded the boat just 
as she was swinging out. 

When it reached its destination, the detectives waiting 
to search both train and boat, found the man they were 
looking for, was not aboard. 

Despite the policeman’s maimed hands, as soon as he 
was released, he lost no time in communicating with 
Edwards, who hurried to the scene at once. His joy 
was great to discover all the stocks and bonds were 
intact, as well as the moneys of the clients; there was, 
however, something like five thousand dollars missing 
from Weslow’s stack of gold notes. He knew the sen¬ 
ator would make up that loss promptly. 

Edwards lost no time in advising the senator of what 
had taken place. 

It was a strange home-coming for a bride and groom. 
Daniel Weslow suggested to Pauline that they go to the 
Waldorf Astoria, where he was stopping. The blue eyes 
she raised to him were brimming with tears. 

“You go there, Please,” she answered. “I am going 
home with papa; I couldn’t think of leaving him.” 

“If that be your decision, I reckon I better go back 
home at once, and come for you when you are ready.” 
She made no reply, hiding her head on her father’s 
shoulder. He could feel his daughter’s slender form 
trembling like an aspen leaf against his heart. 


40 


WOODEN WIVES 


Owing to the doctor’s powerful stimulants, the senator 
had regained his speech, in part. “I think I may send 
Pauline to her old governess in Boston, for two or three 
weeks,” he whispered feebly. “By that time I shall 
have to take a business trip out west—your way, and 
will bring her to you, if you approve of it.” 

“Everything shall be just as Pauline says,” declared 
Weslow, wistfully, stealing an arm about his bride, and 
attempting to draw her to his side, as the car bowled 
rapidly along toward the Rae home. 

Pauline shrank from his caress, clinging to her father. 
Weslow attributed it to maiden modesty. 

As the automobile containing the bridal party drew 
up at the house, all the members of the senator’s family 
were lined up in the spacious entrance hall to bid them 
welcome. There, too, stood Mareelle Valleau looking 
curiously at the man who had cut out the dashing Hugh 
Boyd. He entered, half lifting, half carrying the sen¬ 
ator, Edwards assisting on the other side,—Pauline fol¬ 
lowing. 

One glance at the bridegroom’s face, and the French 
girl drew back with a stifled cry. In him, she saw the 
hero of her dreams, the man whom she had come to 
America for the express purpose of finding, winning and 
wedding. 

He had touched her hand,—heard her tremulous voice 
in welcome, glancing casually at her at the time;—she 
knew he had not remembered that he had ever met her 
before. He had wedded a girl who had no love for him; 
—one in whose heart another was enshrined;—while— 


WHOM FIRST WE LOVE, WE SELDOM WED 41 

she —would have given life itself, to have stood by his 
side for one brief hour,—his bride. 

From the welcoming group, Daniel turned to Pauline, 
whispering, as he attempted to draw her into his arms: 
“Cannot we have a few moments alone together, dear? 
If I am to return west without you, I ’ll aim to catch the 
next out-going train—” 

“You will have barely time to make it sir, as it is,” 
remarked Edwards consulting his watch. Daniel looked 
wistfully at Pauline, hoping against hope that she might 
bid him—stay. She avoided his glance. 

Hastily wringing the hands of the senator and Ed¬ 
wards, and nodding to the others, he caught Pauline in 
his arms, straining her closely to his breast—despite her 
resistance—which he attributed to on-lookers. 

“Pauline, my darling,” he whispered brokenly, “I 
must go quickly—if at all. I am leaving behind me—in 
your keeping, my heart, dear.” 

He forgot there were others about them, all he 
realized, was, he was holding his treasure in his arms— 
for the first time,—and she was all his own, his fair 
young bride. The very life of him, aye, his soul were in 
the sacred kisses he showered on her white face, and 
cold, unresponsive lips, as he whispered huskily, despair¬ 
ingly : *‘ Oh, Pauline, my wife, it seems like tearing the 
living, beating heart from my bosom to part from you. 
Only God will know how I will count the hours until I 
hold you in my arms again.” One last passionate kiss 
—and he was gone. Her face was wet with his tears. 
He never knew Pauline fell in a swoon at her father’s 
feet. 


42 


WOODEN WIVES 


Marcelle Valleau had watched the scene with almost 
uncontrollable rage. A smoldering fire burned in the 
dusky eyes the white lids covered. Turning abruptly 
she fled unnoticed to her room, flinging herself face- 
downward on the couch. The man she coveted above all 
else in the world, had raised a barrier between them,— 
but—barriers had been known—to—break. 


CHAPTER IV. 


ARE MISFIT MARRIAGES EVER REMEDIES 

“Is there within thy heart a need 
That mine cannot fulfill? 

One cord that any other hand 
Could better make—or still? 


t( Search not to find what lies too deeply hid, 

Nor to know things where knowledge is forbid.” 

When father and daughter found themselves alone, 
Pauline rose from her knees beside his chair, looking 
him steadily in the eyes. 

“You have won out, father,” she said slowly, “I 
have married the man whom you desired for a son-in- 
law,—but I tell you here and now—I will never live 
with Daniel Weslow;—he and I will never be more,— 
never nearer to each other than we are at this moment. 
You—nor he—nor all the powers on earth cannot force 
me to live with him;—understand that fully,—and 
make it—known to him—as you best know how.” 

Senator Rae closed his eyes wearily. “I am a very 
sick man, my child,” he muttered weakly, “too in¬ 
disposed to discuss the situation with you—now.— 
Remember the doctor warned against any undue ex¬ 
citement. Kiss me, my dear, I am going to my room.” 

Pauline realized that he must feel weak indeed, to 
43 


44 


WOODEN WIVES 


ring for assistance to arise from his chair. She prof¬ 
fered her aid quickly, but he turned wearily to his 
valet who answered his summons with alacrity. At 
the door Pauline held up her lips mechanically for his 
usual good-night kiss. 

Both noticed, for the first time a restraint,—a 
sudden coldness had stolen between them—marring 
their loving companionship. 

“God bless you, daughter, dear,” murmured the old 
senator, laying a shaking hand on her fair, bowed 
young head. “The time will come, Pauline, when you 
will realize your father—knew—best.” 

The girl turned abruptly away, stifling the bitter 
rejoinder that was on her lips. She felt that she was 
a martyr—her happiness sacrificed on the altar of— 
duty. She despised Daniel Weslow for the influence 
he seemed to wield over her father. Even as the words 
were spoken—“I PEONOUNCE YOU MAN—AND— 
WIFE!” she had promised herself,—if her father died, 
she would divorce the man who stood by her side, 
without delay,—the sacrifice being useless. 

After parting with her father, Pauline groped her 
way to her room through blinding tears; there, she 
gave way to violent weeping, sobbing over and over 
and over again, “Oh, Hughey, my love, what will you 
do or say, when you learn what I have done?” 

Suddenly she thought of Marcelle, whose life had 
also been wrecked on lovers rock. A little later there 
was a tap on Marcelle’s door, and, in answer to her 
“come in,” Pauline entered. She was surprised to 
see her face showed traces of violent weeping. 


ARE MISFIT MARRIAGES EVER REMEDIED? 45 

“Yon are in trouble, dear Pauline /’ she murmured 
advancing hurriedly, and throwing her arms about 
her,—“Can I help you in any way?” 

“Yes, yes—you can!” sobbed Pauline, “I need your 
sympathy, your—help in this, my hour of woe,—as 
no girl ever needed help—and advice.” 

Marcelle led her to a divan, taking a seat beside 
her, her arms still twined about Pauline. ' 

“Marcelle, you made me your confidante about your 
unhappy love affair to-day,—now, I am here to tell 
you about mine; you will pity me, Marcelle,—for I am 
the most unhappy girl in all the world.” 

“You unhappy, dear; you—who have wealth, beau¬ 
ty, and just wedded to the man you love—” 

Pauline interrupted her with hysterical weeping. 
“That is just it, Marcelle, I am married, tied as hard 
and fast as the marriage knot can bind me,—but I am 
NOT—wedded to the man I love.” 

“No!” exclaimed the French girl wonderingly. 
“You shall tell me all about it, and I will know how 
to—comfort you.” 

Pauline was very young, and—oh, so inexperienced; 
—she had never known falsity or decit existed; that 
girlish lips could smile endearingly while the heart 
was cold,—even bitter. Her heart craved sympathy, 
this Marcelle appeared to offer. 

Sitting there, closely folded in the French girl’s 
arms, Pauline confided to her all of her pitiful story, 
from beginning to end. When she had finished, she 
looked up into Marcelled face, asking piteously:— 
“Tell me what am I to do, dear friend—while my heart 


46 WOODEN WIVES 

is full of love for—the lover from whom a cruel fate 
has parted me?” 

“I am not only sorry for you, dear,—but for your 
young lover whose heart this affair will surely break;— 
it will wreck his life.” 

4 ‘ Oh, do not say that!’ 7 cried Pauline, breaking out 
afresh into violent weeping, “my heart will surely 
break—to think that!” 

“We will think, and confer what is best to be done 
—later on. I say it was abominable in this man to 
take advantage of a situation and force,—as it were, 
—the result—your marriage with him. You say there 
has never been any courtship between you;—you have 
every reason to despise him for it. You did perfectly 
right to send him away—at once.” 

“I am so glad you approve of what I did; you are 
the only one in the house who is not against me for 
doing so; even father.” 

During the fortnight which followed, the senator’s 
health improved rapidly; but he saw very little of 
Pauline; she was always with the French girl, her new 
found friend. At first he felt like resenting the 
presence of the stranger, but, as he saw her day after 
day, and noted how charmed his daughter was with 
her, he concluded she was a pleasing addition to the 
household. Marcelle did everything that the rest did 
not think of doing,—to make him comfortable, thus 
earning his sincere gratitude. 

At the end of the third week, the senator announced 
to Pauline that she must prepare to accompany him 
west, without delay; he had business interest which 


ARE MISFIT MARRIAGES EVER REMEDIED? 47 

demanded his presence; he could see her safely to 
Oklahoma City. 

In vain she protested that she would not go; he was 
inexorable. 

“It is your duty to go to your husband,” he said 
reprovingly. “ Daniel wants you, he needs you, he 
adores you,—^It seems to me you ought to be very— 
proud of him. I am going to tell you a little secret 
that we have been keeping from you;—Weslow is run¬ 
ning for United States Senator,—mark me, he will 
win, and my little girl will recognize, as every one 
else does, that there are few like him. From the hour 
you wedded him, I have never ceased thanking God 
for giving me this man for a son-in-law.’ ’ 

“It is his vast wealth that will buy him the senato¬ 
rial votes,” replied Pauline with curling lip. 

“If he hadn’t a dollar in the world, he would be the 
choice of the people, ’ ’ defended her father warmly. 

In the end, after much battling, Senator Rae con¬ 
quered. Pauline was fairly forced into accompanying 
him on the trip west. It was decided Marcelle should 
remain as part and parcel of the Rae home, much to the 
disgust of Mrs. Holt and the servants, every one of 
whom entertained a secret dislike for her—a sentiment 
which Marcelle Yalleau was well aware of. 

“This French girl has bewitched the Senator, as 
well as his daughter,” said Mrs. Holt when she 
heard the decision; ever since she had been installed 
in the house, there had been no love lost between 
them. 

It had been a great disappointment to Daniel Wes- 


48 


WOODEN WIVES 


low to return to Ms home in the far west, leaving his 
bride behind him; but, her will was law to him. 

When he reached Oklahoma City, he saw, with dis¬ 
may, half of the town had gathered at the station, 
and blamed the telegraph dispatches for the mischief. 
There was great amazement among his fellow town- 
folks when he stepped from the train—alone. 

The rousing welcome accorded him,—the cheers and 
shouts of approval, proclaimed his great popularity. 
Then and there he was obliged to mount a pile of 
boxes, and explain to the crowd the reason why Mrs. 
Weslow had not accompanied him. The cheers were 
renewed with vigor when he announced she would be 
along, in the course of three or four weeks;—quite as 
soon as her father was able to accompany her. 

Daniel would not accept the use of the automobile 
which was there for his use. “No boys,” he said, “I 
want to go to my home, afoot, as I have always done; 
I want to stop and shake the hand of every old friend 
I meet.—I want to pat the heads of the little ones I 
know, and maybe kiss their rosy little faces. I want 
to stop and see the corn ripening in the fields,—and 
the herds of fine cattle galloping over the plains. I 
tell you what, neighbors, it’s mighty fine to be back 
in God’s country again. Why, I wouldn’t exchange 
the few acres I own here, among you, for all New 
York City.—No, neighbors, I’m much obliged to you 
all, just the same, for the car, but I prefer to walk,— 
and—alone.” 

They gave him his way, but the cheering continued 
until the tall form was lost to sight in the distance. 


ARE MISFIT MARRIAGES EVER REMEDIED? 49 

With one accord they agreed Daniel Weslow would sure¬ 
ly win at the forth-coming election as the United States 
senator to be sent from Oklahoma to Washington. 

Mrs. Bemis, his house-keeper, was glad to see him, 
but, like the rest was surely disappointed that his 
bride was not with him; especially as he had tele¬ 
graphed her he was bringing home—a wife;—To be 
sure and have one of those fine hot, chicken dinners, 
which she knew so well how to cook,—all ready. She 
had had a good cry over the telegram, after she had 
gotten over her great surprise, and, ever since she 
wondered what the girl must be like who had won 
the big, wonderful heart of Mr. Daniel, as she called 
him. She thought the best woman the world held, 
none too good for the noble man, whom she revered 
and loved as the apple of her eye. In early childhood 
his parents had passed away, leaving the little boy 
alone in the world. The widow Bemis, who was earn¬ 
ing her living by teaching the district school, took him 
in, and cared for him. 

In after years, when she was no longer able to earn 
her bread in this way, he repaid her years of kindness 
by caring for her when she needed care the most. She 
had been his counsellor all those years, and now,— 
since fortune had been showering such amazing wealth 
upon him, she was still his counsellor, and adviser. 

The only secret he had ever kept from her, was, the 
fact of his having met and loved Pauline Rae. No 
wonder his telegram had astounded her. 

They sat down to the hot, chicken dinner together, 
and over the meal—which she noticed he did not par- 


50 


WOODEN WIVES 


take of with the same old relish, he gave her a faithful 
resume of all that had transpired. 

“I am anxious to see what she is like,” sighed Mrs. 
Bemis wistfully. 

Daniel’s hand traveled to his breast pocket—from 
which he took a bit of paste-board wrapped in a silk 
handkerchief, handing it to her. 

An exclamation of surprise broke from her lips 
when she took off the wrapping and her eyes rested 
on it. 

She beheld a snap-shot of a young girl, fastening 
her dainty pump slipper, her foot resting upon the 
running-board of an automobile. 

Daniel colored like a peony, at the same time laugh¬ 
ing heartily at Mrs. Bemis's consternation. 

*‘You see it was this way,” he confessed:—“I was 
powerful anxious to get a picture of Pauline; I aimed 
I'd get one somehow. I saw one of those fellows with 
a little black box in his hand—” 

“A kodak, Mister Daniel,” she interrupted. 

“Yes, one of those things,—taking pictures of those 
tall sky-scrapers across the way;—I paid him some¬ 
thing pretty to take a snap-shot of the senator's 
daughter when she should come down from her father's 
office and get into her car which stood there. The 
performance was staged all right,—but,—just as he 
was pressing the button, she stooped down to tie her 
shoe;—so there you are. Look at that trim ankle as 
tiny as your wrist. I’ve got the lovely original now, 
so I don’t need to try again for a picture of Pauline, 
though her face is completely covered by her floppy 


ARE MISFIT MARRIAGES EVER REMEDIED? 51 

hat in this. Lord! how Panline will laugh when I 
show her this!—it’s a good one on me.” 

“You got just what you deserved for your im¬ 
pudence, Mister Daniel/ ’ she observed dryly, though 
much amused. 

She realized how completely his heart was wrapped 
up in the girl as she listened to his description of her. 
She was aghast when he confided to her that he had 
made over to her his entire fortune, every penny of it, 
save a house for herself, and an income sufficient to 
keep her in comfort as long as she should live. You 
see I did not forget my debt to you, Mrs. Bemis, nor 
my duty which was to set aside enough to make you 
independent of any one, hereafter. 

In her joy Mrs. Bemis threw her arms about him, 
kissing him as she wept. 

“You have been like an own son to me, Mr. Daniel/’ 
she sobbed. “May God bless you, and make your future 
as smooth for you, as you have made mine/ , 

The good soul was greatly troubled that he had 
made over his fine fortune to this girl,*—but she dared 
not voice her thoughts. “I pray heaven that it may 
be all right / 9 was her silent prayer. 

During the days that followed, Daniel did not lose 
a day that he did not write to his darling Pauline,— 
but, to his dismay, and that of Mrs. Bemis not so much 
as a line came to him to reply. 

“She is busy looking after her father, God bless 
her/ , he explained, “she will be sure to write me to¬ 
morrow/ J But, day after day dragged their slow 
lengths by, still there was no word from Pauline. 


52 


WOODEN WIVES 


“She may be ill,” he declared at length, in alarm. 
“I can stand this suspense no longer; if I do not hear 
from her by the end of the week, I shall go to New 
York.” 

At this state of affairs, Mrs. Bemis, who had found 
out from Daniel the address of Senator Kae, took it 
upon herself to end his suspense by sending a long 
telegram, not to Pauline, but her father. This brought 
results. 

Two days later Daniel was overjoyed to receive a 
despatch from the senator, stating, he and Pauline 
would arrive in Oklahoma City, a week from that day. 
Daniel was now as joyous as he had been miserable. 

“I will go down three stations below, and meet and 
board the train,” he announced. “I must prepare 
them to expect a crowd, if, by chance anyone got wind 
they were to arrive.” 

Like a blushing school-boy, he consulted, with much 
bashfulness, with Mrs. Bemis, as to the best place to 
pass their honeymoon, suggesting the Hotel Daven¬ 
port, in Spokane. The good lady put in a vigorous 
veto to that arrangement. “It’s a splendid place,” 
she admitted, but, a man from Oklahoma ought to 
spend his honeymoon in his own state,—I propose you 
stay right here in your own home.—Isn’t it fine enough 
for any lady in the land, I should like to know?” 

He had his doubts as to whether such an arrange¬ 
ment would suit Pauline,—it would have to be as she 
wished; the result was they agreed they would have 
to let it rest at that, awaiting her coming, and her 
pleasure. 


ARE MISFIT MARRIAGES EVER REMEDIED? 53 

“God help a man who is as much wrapped np in a 
woman’s whim as poor Mr. Daniel is,” she thought. 
In his answer to her dispatch, Senator Rae had replied 
Pauline would stop at Oklahoma City, but, for business 
reasons, he would be obliged to continue his journey 
further. 

She dared not tell Daniel that she knew this, concern¬ 
ing their plans;—not even when he bade her make 
ready another room for Pauline’s father. 

She attended to every detail of decorating the 
bridal-chamber, as she called it; even Daniel caught 
his breath when he was at last allowed to peep into 
it, with Mrs. Bemis’s permission. 

“I’m sure Pauline will be charmed with it,—aren’t 
you?” he queried very eargerly, and wistfully. 

“She’d be a mighty-hard-to-suit-girl—if she would¬ 
n’t be,” she responded, looking with pride around the 
beautiful room. 

Time cannot linger with the present;—it must pass 
either slowly, or quickly in accordance with the joy 
in some hearts, or the sorrow in others. 

The eagerly awaited day rolled around at last. 
Daniel had been up with the dawn; indeed Mrs. Bemis 
knew he had not slept a wink, all the long night 
through;—she had heard him tip-toeing to and fro, 
opening and shutting windows softly. She had not 
been able to get much sleep herself, on account of 
him. 

As she tossed to and fro on her pillow, she thought, 
* 1 God help a man as much in love as Mr. Daniel is; I 
never imagined he could be so foolish.” 


54 


WOODEN WIVES 


Getting through breakfast was a matter of pretense 
with him; he could not eat; but Mrs. Bemis made no 
comment. She certainly pitied him. 

When it came time for him to dress to go to meet 
the train, he called her into his room. He was sitting 
on his bed with neck-ties covering it, and strewn all 
over the floor. He looked up at her in helpless bewil¬ 
derment. “I just wanted to ask you, which of all 
these, do you think is the most—becoming, Mrs. 
Bemis.’* 

She looked at his eager, earnest face, crushing back 
the laugh that was on her lips, as her glance took in 
the flaming tie he was holding at arms length,—evi¬ 
dently hoping she might approve of it. She shook her 
head;—he laid it down with a sigh. Purple, flame, 
orange, and green she likewise vetoed. 

“Which one is it to be, then?” he queried in de¬ 
spair, “they’ve muddled me.” 

She pointed to a dark, midnight blue. “That’s the 
one you wore to New York;—it looks more dignified 
than the others, Mr. Daniel.” 

“Dignified!” he echoed, “I look too dignified, by 
long odds now. You do not seem to realize, Mrs. Bemis, 
that I must, well,—er—spruce up, you know—Pauline 
is— Young ;—just turned seventeen.” 

“Try the most likely ones on, that is the only way 
we can tell,” she said. 

One after the other were no sooner donned, than 
discarded. 

“I’ll shut my eyes, and wear the first one I pick 


IRE MISFIT MARRIAGES EVER REMEDIED? 55 

up,” he declared, at last. “I have no time to fool with 
you any longer, Mrs. Bemis; I see you are at a loss 
concerning the eternal fitness of things.” 

She knew he was the one who was at a loss concerning 
the fitness of what was most appropriate for the oc¬ 
casion, but she made no response. 

He shut his eyes, and made a grab. Mrs. Bemis 
fairly gasped when she beheld what he had in his 
hand:—a yellow and purple cotton with a green vine 
running through it, on which at intervals were 
perched, tawny bees. 

“That’s your grab, Mr. Daniel,” she cried quite as 
soon as she could control her voice to speak, “now let’s 
try mine?" But he was already donning it,—and she 
knew further remonstrance was useless. He was mak¬ 
ing a most grievous mistake, but she was powerless to 
prevent it. She would not scold or attempt to cross 
him on this occasion of all others. 

In that moment, the thought passed idly through her 
mind where he had gotten that grotesque tie. She had 
seen an old Indian woman weaving it, and purchased 
it for him;—he had never before worn it. She wished 
most ardently that she had thrown it away, or disposed 
of it years ago. 

At the mirror he hesitated. “You could do me a 
great favor, if you would, Mrs. Bemis,” he observed 
earnestly. 

“You know I would do anything in the world for 
you, Mr. Daniel,” she replied. 

He pointed to his temples. “There are a few gray 


56 


WOODEN WIVES 


hairs there,” he said. “ Would yon mind clipping them 
out, for me?” 

“I conld do it, but I assure yon, where yon clip out 
a white hair, a full dozen comes to each funeral,” she 
declared. 

“I won’t mind, if they come to the funeral dressed 
in black,” he responded. 

When he was all ready to go, he looked fine in her 
eyes, fine, all save the obnoxious neck-tie. “If she 
loves him,—and certainly she must, or she would not 
have married him,—she will pay no heed to the tie,” 
she concluded. 

From the window Mrs. Bemis saw him leap into the 
saddle. He waved Good-bye to her, and was off like 
the wind to meet the train a few stations away. 

Ere he had ridden half a mile, the tie, rotted with 
age, fell apart owing to the stiff wind he was facing, 
—one part of it, which had been fastened to the bosom 
of his shirt remaining,—the balance of it fluttering to 
the roadside. So busy was he with his thoughts, he 
did not notice the contretemps until he was almost at 
his journey’s end. 

Then, snatching the two frayed ends, he thrust them 
into his breast pocket. He was rather relieved than 
otherwise, that he was not wearing that tie,—better 
none than that one. He remembered he had seen 
several of the boys guiltless of a tie. He hoped 
Pauline would not notice its omission. 

In the distance he heard the shriek of the incoming 
train. It almost seemed to him that his heart leaped 
out of his bosom and flew to meet it. Riding swiftly 


ARE MISFIT MARRIAGES EVER REMEDIED f 57 

onward, thinking of Pauline, lines he had once read 
occurred to him— 

“It cannot be that I fulfill, 

Completely all her girlish dreams 
For far beyond I feel that still 
Some other ideal surely gleams. ’ 1 


CHAPTER V 


KINDLING USELESS HOPES 

“God grant that you may never know 
A withered rose, a fallen bird, 

A garden where no songs are heard, 

Nor even that I miss you so, 

Good night, dear heart! ” 

***** 

“There is a word of grief the sounding token; 
There is a word be jeweled with bright tears, 
A little word that breaks the chain of years; 

But utterance must ever bring emotion, 

’Tis known in every land, on every ocean, 

7 Tis called t Good-bye \ 7 7 


Although Marcelle had done her utmost to prevail 
upon Pauline not to go west, her father’s insistence had 
overruled in the end. 

During the entire journey, the senator noticed how 
abstracted, even gloomy Pauline had become; all the 
glad girlishness of other days seemed to have dropped 
from her; this worried him greatly. She had become 
cold, unresponsive, drooping—like a flower blighted in 
the bud. How was he to account to Weslow for this 
great change in her. 

The senator noted, too, that she was not wearing the 
splendid ring, a diamond of unusual purity, and beauty 
which Weslow had sent her. 

58 


KINDLING USELESS HOPES 


59 


44 Are you afraid some western bandit might relieve 
you of it, dear?” he queried, pointing to the hand which 
it should have adorned. 

He learned it was attached to a ribbon she wore about 
her neck. 

“It would be no loss to me if the bandits were to take 
it, as I shall—never wear it,” she declared decisively. 
“It is my intention to return it to Mr. Weslow as soon 
as we meet.” 

“Heaven forbid that a daughter of mine should so 
insult and humiliate a good, noble man!” returned the 
senator warmly. Pauline shrugged her shoulders, 
vouchsafing no reply. 

“She is still thinking of and worrying over that 
damned rascal—Boyd!” he concluded; after a pause, 
he said sharply, “If you do not care for the ring, give 
it to me.” He finished the thought unspoken—any¬ 
thing rather than return it to Weslow. 

To his great astonishment, she slipped it from the 
cprd and handed it over to him at once, without com¬ 
ment. 

He found himself in a dilemma upon which he had 
not counted. He was wearing a like gem of singular 
beauty, and most unique setting; therefore, he had no 
use for another. The stick-pin which he wore was of 
the same curious design. 

He had no other recourse than to slip it into his vest 
pocket. After a moment’s pause, he said: “You had 
better take care of it for the present, for me, I would be 
sure to lose it, carrying it so carelessly about me. He 
found Pauline firm in her refusal to accept it. 


60 


WOODEN WIVES 


“More pickings for the bandits,” he remarked, resign¬ 
edly settling back in his seat, and picking up a news¬ 
paper to lose his unpleasant thoughts in. Pauline made 
no response, she was staring hard at the wild, barren 
rugged scenery of the country through which they were 
passing. “We have been in Oklahoma some time; we 
ought to reach Oaklahoma City in an hour, I should 
judge,—it is five stations from here,” he remarked. 

As he picked up his paper again, to finish the article 
he had been reading, his ear caught the sound of a com¬ 
motion at the other end of the observation car. Both 
he and Pauline saw, and realized at the same time what 
had happened. A tall form had flung open the rear 
door of the observation car, and standing on the 
threshold, was pointing the weapons he held in both 
hands, at the terror-stricken occupants. 

He wore the costume of the typical western cow-boy, 
his begrimed sombrero pulled well down over his eyes, 
and a piece of dark cloth masking the lower part of his 
face. 

“Easy now!” he exclaimed in a deep, sonorous voice, 
“You people won’t get hurt unless you dis-o-bey orders. 
I want what valuables every one of yo has got about yo, 
an’ I aim to get em in a hurry. Speed up here, fall 
into line, and drop yor glist’ners an’ bucks in this here 
bag. I reckon you know what’ll happen if yo attempt 
t’ squeal or hold anythin’ back—quick now, hustle, I 
say!” 

One by one the terrified passengers, complied; his 
practiced eye seemed to divine at a glance where the 
valuables of each one was concealed. 


KINDLING USELESS HOPES 


61 


One man attempted to put up a protest; a bullet from 
the bandit’s gun grazed his temple. This terrible warn¬ 
ing sufficed for the rest. 

He speeded the trembling line of men and women past 
him in record time. The senator was obliged" to follow 
the example of the rest. His roll of bills he did not 
care so much for,—but his pin and ring he prized most 
highly; they had been family heirlooms for years, 
handed down. He dared make no resistance, in the face 
of the weapons covering him. His heirlooms, watch and 
chain,—even Pauline’s ring went into the robber’s bag 
without ado. 

“I have nothing whatever of any value about me,” 
said Pauline, pale but calm, facing the man fearlessly 
in the eye. To her surprise, she read—admiration in 
the eyes looking down into her own. In her momentary 
scrutiny of him, she noted a tie, of most ugly pattern, 
whose end dangled from his vest pocket;—a yellow, 
green and purple cotton thing, with a red vine, and 
tawny bees scattered over it. 

“Yor th’ puttiest piece o’ work I ever saw miss,” he 
grinned. “I reckon yo can keep yor trinkets, move on 
quick afore I re—pent o’ my generosity. 

At that instant the gleam of her wedding ring caught 
her eye;—taking it from her finger she tossed it with 
the rest of the loot—into the yawning pouch. To her 
amazement, and that of the terrified onlookers—he 
tossed it back to her with a harsh laugh. 

“I’m not aimin t’ take a woman’s wedding ring,” he 
remarked jocularly,—“that’s of value t’ th’ owner 
only, as it never contains a sparkler.” 


62 


WOODEN WIVES 


‘‘You may as well keep it;—I was just considering 
tossing it from the window/ ’ she declared, cresting her 
head proudly, as she threw it in the man’s face,—much 
to his apparent astonishment. 

“Nope!” he responded, “I insist upon yer takin’ it 
right back, an’ putting it on your finger—where it be¬ 
longs.” 

She shook her head defiantly. To the surprise of the 
terrified onlooker the bandit appeared to grow furious 
at her obstinacy. 

“Put it on, I say!” he roared, as he pointed his 
weapon menacingly at her father in a manner not to be 
misunderstood. 

Pale, but still defiant, Pauline obeyed his command. 

“I know a thing or two about foolish, high-strung 
young wives,” he commented grimly. There are those 
who need a cave-man’s strong arm to bring ’em to sub¬ 
mission, an’ I make no doubt yer one of ’em.” 

Pauline’s eyes flashed. “I resent being lectured— 
insulted by a—robber—a common—thief!” she ex¬ 
claimed. 

“For God’s sake do not anger the desperado!—no 
knowing what he might do,” her father whispered 
hoarsely in her ear. 

Low as had been the whispered comment, the keen 
ears of the bandit heard it. He laughed an ugly laugh. 

“Right you are, old fellow!” he retorted grimly, “for 
instance, I might take a notion to kidnap your haughty 
daughter, and crush all that foolish pride out of her,— 
if I had to crush th’ heart o’ her t’ do it.” 

The senator reeled back;—he would have fallen to the 


KINDLING USELESS HOPES 


63 


floor had not Pauline sprung to his side quickly, wind¬ 
ing her arms about him, supporting him,—then, turning 
to the bandit, she appealed in a shaking, humbled voice 
and attitude: “You have secured all there is of value 
from those assembled on this train—wont you please— 
go?” 

“Would it be a great relief to you to be relieved of 
my presence?” he queried quizzically, as he adjusted his 

mask. 

“Yes, a very great relief!” assented Pauline. “Do, 
please leave us.” 

“Anything to oblige a lady,—’specially one as young 
an’ pretty as yourself, miss,” he retorted, and again 
that strange sarcastic laugh broke from his lips. No 
one spoke, but there was a fear in every heart that it 
was his intention, from the way he was gazing at the 
senator’s daughter,—to force her from the train. All 
were praying God to save her. 

An instant later he was backing out of the car. 
Rushing to the window, the passengers saw him spring 
upon the back of a horse that had been following the 
train, swerve suddenly to the right, and was lost to sight 
amidst a clump of trees. 

The train had gone some three or four miles ere the 
conductor, who had been summoned by the violent pull¬ 
ing of the bell-rope, was able to reach the observation 
coach, and learn what had occurred. 

At that moment the train was slowing up at a little 
station three miles east of Oklahoma City. The con¬ 
ductor announced they would stop twenty minutes here 
for luncheon. 


64 


WOODEN WIVES 


Pauline and her father had barely stepped out on the 
platform ere he pointed to a figure riding swiftly toward 
them. 

“It is Daniel Weslow,” he exclaimed in a pleased 
voice as he adjusted his spectacles. “Ah, what a relief 
it is to me to deliver you into his safe-keeping. My! 
what a long, dusty ride he has had; his horse is as wet 
as though he had forded a creek, and it is covered with 
dust and foam as well.” 

At that moment Daniel espied them and waved his 
hat vigorously. 

In less time than it takes to tell it he had leaped from 
the saddle, and was hurrying toward them with long, 
swinging strides, his face all aglow with a beaming smile 
of joy. 


CHAPTER VI 


WEDDED LIFE'S BEGINNING 

“A lamp alight, a rose abloom, and you 
Make home for me where ere 
God put us two.” 

* * * * 

“I believe we were made to be gay, 

And all of youth not given to love 
Is vainly squandered away, 

And strewn through life’s labors 
Like gold in the desert sands 
Are love’s sweet kisses, and sighs, and vows, 

And the clasp of clinging hands.” 

In Daniel Weslow's great joy at beholding the girl 
he loved better than all the world, and clasping her 
hands, he did not attribute her restraint to any other 
cause save maiden bashfulness. The senator's warm 
greeting, took the frost out of Pauline's coolness. 

* * Don't eat here," he advised, “ there's a fine dinner 
awaiting you at my place,—or—rather, at Pauline's," 
he added, correcting himself with a hearty laugh. “It's 
only three stations ahead; we'll be there in no time." 

He was sorry to hear the senator was obliged to go 
on, but glad in another way:—he would have Pauline 
all to himself. Senator Rae promised to stop on his 
way back home. 

As they entered the train again, they found all of 
the passengers discussing the daring train robbery 
which had just taken place. 

65 


66 


WOODEN WIVES 


Daniel listened to the details with the keenest in¬ 
terest, making few comments other than to express 
his regret at the losses Pauline and her father had 
suffered. 

“That sort of thing happens every once in a while 
hereabouts,’’ he said. “Same fellow I reckon,—makes 
get-aways that would knock th’ spots off a Claudy 
Duval—or Eobin Hood.” 

“You have been reading dime novels, Weslow,” 
laughed the senator, shaking a warning finger at him. 
At that moment the train began moving on. 

“What about your horse?” queried the senator. 
“Did you forget him?” 

Weslow laughed. “Not much; she’s not tied; she’ll 
just trot along following the train. I tell you what, 
senator, nothing could buy that mare of me; she’s th’ 
speediest animal I ever put a leg over, or in th’ whole 
west; nothing hereabouts can catch her when I give 
her th’ word to run for it.” 

The senator felt much trepidation as the train 
steamed into Oklahoma City.—Would Pauline consent 
to be left with Weslow, or, would she cling to him— 
refusing to be parted from him. He could only hope, 
and await results. In a tone of voice distinctly audible 
to Pauline’s ears, and for whom it was really intended, 
the senator related to Weslow that he expected to be 
met further on by a crew of rough miners, riotously 
inclined. They were to travel by mule far into the 
bowels of the earth, that he might examine personally, 
and rectify conditions they complained of. 

Pauline had heard with dismay, every word. She 


WEDDED LIFE'S BEGINNING 


67 


realized her father would not permit her to accompany 
him further than Oklahoma City, and her heart sunk 
within her. 

She had little time to cogitate over the matter, for, 
at the other end of the car the conductor's sonorous 
voice was announcing her destination. 

Daniel sprung to his feet, holding out his hand to 
Pauline. “Here we are, dear," he said, his eyes glow¬ 
ing, his voice ringing with the happiness wihch pos¬ 
sessed him—‘ ‘ welcome—HOME!'' 

Senator Rae arose hurriedly, bent over Pauline and 
kissed her. 

“Aurevoir, daughter," he said, “I'll see you again 
very soon; Daniel has promised me he will take the 
best of care of you." 

Pauline, looking fearfully up, read in her father's 
face all that he meant it should convey to her. She 
tried to speak, but words failed her. 

The train bells clanged; Weslow caught her in his 
strong, but gentle clasp, whisking her hurriedly from 
the train to the platform. There he stood, supporting 
Pauline with his right arm,—and with his left waving 
to the senator 'till the train rounded an adjacent curve 
and was lost to sight. 

“Here is your new car, dear," he said, pointing to 
a handsome touring automobile which had just drawn 
up to the station platform. “It's a Cadillac,—the 
finest one—and best make I knew of. You're going 
to have a chauffeur,—an' everything else in God's 
world that I can think of—that can add to your pleas¬ 
ure. All you’ll have to say, is:—‘Dan’l, I want this, 


68 WOODEN WIVES 

or, I want that/ an’ you shall have it if it is in mortal 
—power for me to get it.” 

He had arranged it so carefully that no one outside 
of his own household knew of their home-coming. 
Mrs. Bemis was at the porch to bid them welcome. 
She could not help but stare at the fair vision of 
lovely girl-hood that Daniel helped out of the car, and 
brought forward to meet her. At her first glance at 
Pauline, she did not wonder that poor Daniel had lost 
not only his heart, but his head. Her one hope was 
that the pretty young bride would appreciate his affec¬ 
tion for her. 

She took Pauline in her arms, pillowing her head on 
her motherly bosom, in much the same fashion that 
Mrs. Holt, in her far off home in the east was wont 
to do,—telling her in her hearty way, how glad she 
was to see her, adding that every servant about the 
place was just dying to get a peep at her—adding, 
that they would be sure to love her on sight, as she 
did. 

‘‘You’d better brush up a little, Mr. Daniel,” she 
said briskly, “I’ll show Mrs. Weslow to her room, and 
help her take off her wraps.—By that time dinner’ll 
be on the table.” 

He needed no second bidding, but as he passed Mrs. 
Bemis, she whispered soto voice in his ear:—“The 
navy-blue necktie, Mr. Daniel.” 

“It is a very nice room, Mrs. Bemis,” she said, “but 
isn’t it large?” “Where do you sleep?” she asked in 
the next breath. 

The elder woman opened a door across the hall. 


WEDDED LIFE’S BEGINNING 69 

“Here,” she replied, pleased that the young bride took 
such interest in her. 

Pauline looked around at the furnishings,— the 
bright carpet with the big red roses scattered over it, 
—the comfy rocking chairs, and the resting, lounge, 
the white curtained windows with cheery side draperies 
of chintz,—the picture of Washington crossing the 
Delaware—over the mantel,—the bed with its spotless 
counterpane, and stiffly starched pillow shams,—and 
the sewing-machine in the alcove. 

“How cozy your room is,” she murmured, in the 
next breath exclaiming: “Couldn’t I sleep here, with 
you?—share your room with you—I would be so quiet, 
so careful not to distrub you.—Do, please say yes, Mrs. 
Bemis,—and call me—Pauline, won’t you?” 

The good woman looked down into the beautiful, 
pleading girlish face aghast; she was wondering if she 
had actually heard aright,—for a moment she was at 
a loss for words in which to make answer; then she 
took the two little fluttering hands in her own, she 
had decided she must set the girl right,—use plain 
speech which she could not fail to comprehend the full 
meaning of. She began diplomatically:— 

“When you think it over, I am sure you will agree 
with me that it would be quite amiss for me to call you 
anything save your new name;—Mrs. Weslow. I am 
only Mr. Daniel’s housekeeper, I could not take it upon 
myself to express in terms of undue familiarity, one 
word that would be—ill advised, let us say. The room 
you and your husband are to occupy, you will find the 
most pleasantly situated of any in the house. We were 


70 


WOODEN WIVES 


all so sure you would be delighted with it. Come, let 
me show you the fine big closets where we will arrange 
your things when your trunks arrive. Just now, wont 
you smooth your curls, and come down to luncheon? 
I hear Mr. Daniel pacing up and down the dining room. 
Bless him, he has a fine appetite, and is as hungry as a 
bear,—you must be hungry too.” 

“Must I go down?” she inquired piteously, dreading 
the thought of seeing Daniel Weslow there. 

“Certainly,” was the response, and Mrs. Bemis 
smiled to note how much of a child she appeared,—a 
child, attempting to be—dignified. 

“If you like, Mrs. Weslow, I will come back for you 
in a few minutes to show you the way down,” she 
observed, as Pauline still hung back. Taking silence 
for assent, she quitted the room. 

Daniel was indeed pacing most restlessly up and 
down as she reached the handsome new dining room. 
He looked his disappointment that she had not brought 
Pauline with her. 

“She will be ready to come down shortly,” she an¬ 
nounced. 

He pointed to the table: “It is only set for two,” he 
said; “where do you sit?” The old housekeeper laid 
her hand on his arm. 

“Everything is to be different now, Mr. Daniel,” she 
murmured, bravely keeping the tears back. “During 
all these years you and I have eaten together—always. 
But now,—your house-keeper cannot-” 

“Bring your chair right in, and sit where you always 
did,” he commanded. “You have mothered me too 


WEDDED LIFE'S BEGINNING 


71 


long, too many years to feel that way; why, you are 
dearer than anyone else in the whole world to me— 
excepting—my wife.” 

“You must commence your new life in the proper 
way,” she maintained. Mrs. Weslow knows—what is 
proper in these matters. 

“Did you sound her—about—er—th’ honeymoon?— 
where does she want to go ? ” he asked anxiously. 

Mrs. Bemis shook her head. “That is a matter for 
you,—and you only—to discuss with your bride, Mr. 
Daniel. Talk it over at the dinner.” 

His eyes roamed anxiously over the table. “Did you 
forget to put on all of those silver things I got from 
San Francisco?” he inquired. “There’s a whole case 
of knives and spoons and mugs, and I don’t know what 
all. Set on everything I bought, I want it to look fine. 
She’s used to fine things.” 

Mrs. Bemis ran to the serving table, taking out from 
the drawer a book which she opened, holding it up be¬ 
fore his eyes. “This tells the proper way of setting a 
table, what to put on, and what not to put on it; I 
wanted to be sure—and make no mistakes,” she ex¬ 
plained. 

“Well, well! what a trump you are, Mrs. Bemis!” 
exclaimed Daniel delightedly, giving her a resounding 
slap on the shoulder to emphasize his approval. He 
heard the tooting of the automobile horn outside. 

“That’s th’ fellow who’s to work th’ car for her,” he 
explained. “He wants to know if she—if we are going 
on,—or what he’s to do next.” 

“I will speak to him as soon as I learn Mrs. Weslow’s 


72 


WOODEN WIVES 


wishes. That other moving van you see out there is 
loaded with trunks—-she’s got four of ’em,—big ones.” 

“I will fetch her right down, Mr. Daniel. You are to 
stand behind her chair—draw it out,— 

He cut her short with a vehement gesture. “I’m too 
old to study up all those new trick things now. I’ll be 
sitting in my own place when she comes in, and I ’ll say: 
‘Sit right down Pauline; if you don’t see what you want, 
ask for it.’ ” 

She realized it was little use to give him instructions, 
he would forget everything when his bride appeared. 

Mrs. Bemis hastened to the floor above, and tapped 
lightly on the closed door. There was no response from 
within. Again, and yet again she tapped, each time 
louder than before with like result. Then she made 
bold to enter. 

A fresh breeze was blowing from a window which had 
been closed when she left the apartment; now it was 
wide open. Mrs. Bemis called her name nervously, 
anxiously,—she—WAS NOT IN THE BOOM; she ran 
hurriedly to the window, making the alarming discovery 
that the new automobile in which she had so lately 
arrived—was—also—GONE. 

A sudden dizziness came over her, she sank down into 
the nearest chair, trying to think. Ah, God in heaven! 
—how was she to break the cruel intelligence to the 
noble man waiting so patiently below. In what words 
should she tell Mr. Daniel, whom she loved so well,— 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE MAN WHO HAS NEVER KNOWN LOVE, HAS NEED 
OF SYMPATHY 

‘‘SOME hold that love is a foolish thing, 

A thing of little worth; 

But whether large, or great, or small, 

’Tis love that rules the earth. ’ ’ 

As Mrs. Bemis stood in the beautiful pink and gold 
boudoir, which was to have been the bridal chamber, 
trying to summon courage to face Daniel Weslow, and 
try to tell him what happened,—a great shout from the 
grounds startled her. 

She made her way to the window,—the sight that 
met her gaze was engraven on her memory to the day 
she died:— 

Some few minutes previous to this, Mrs. Cully, the 
cook, and her little lame boy, Billy had been sitting on 
the back-porch admiring the fine new automobile. Sud¬ 
denly the lad exclaimed excitedly:— 

“See, mother, both of the men who run those things 
have gone into the garage;—couldn’t I go over close to 
the new fine one—and just look in“?—” 

“No, No!” returned Mrs. Cully, “Mr. Daniel 
wouldn’t like it, Billy.” “Just to go near and look at 
it wouldn’t do it any harm, mum !” pleaded the child 
wistfully, “I want to, so much.” His mother shook 
her head. 


73 


74 


WOODEN WIVES 


Billy laid his face against one of his crutches, and 
she saw big tear-drops roll slowly down his cheeks. 
Then slowly he raised his poor little pinched, white face 
to her’s. 

“I haven’t had any pleasures in my life, like other 
little boys; and oh, I wanted so much to go close to it 
to look it; is that so very wrong, mum?” 

The piteous look on the little face, the sob in his 
voice, the blue eyes drowned in big tears—went straight 
to her heart, hurting it like the thrust of a knife. 

Poor little Billy! How hard it was to refuse him 
this, the only request he had ever been known to plead 
for. All day long he had been wont to sit on the porch 
in his little chair, watching the flowers, and the sun, 
and the far off mountain tops. He could not run about 
like other lads, because of his distorted little limbs. But, 
since Daniel Weslow had brought him a pair of crutches 
from the big, far off city, he had managed to get around 
the grounds;—but it was accomplished slowly, and with 
much difficulty. 

No, God pity the lad, he had had no pleasures, only 
pain and sorrow! His mother could not find it in her 
heart to hold out against his eager pleading; she caught 
him in her arms and wiped the tears away from his 
little face, murmuring:—“I am going to humor you, 
this time; you can go and look at it, but mind, do not 
touch it; the man who runs it would scold if the print 
of your little hand was on it.” 

“He turned a radiant face to her. “Thank you 
mum,” he whispered, throwing his arms about her neck, 
and laying his cheek close to hers; the fervent kisses 


WHO HAS NEVER KNOWN LOVE NEEDS SYMPATHY 75 

he lavished upon her, told her how deeply he had set 
his heart upon the request which she had just granted. 
Picking up his crutches, he hobbled off turning a joyous 
face back at her, at every few steps. Ah!— how little 
it took to make this little child of misfortune—happy. 

He drew near the wonderful automobile with childish 
wonder; both doors stood open; he was so glad of this, 
for he could see inside of it: He wondered what riding 
in it must be like; he had see children looking out from 
the windows of cars that had passed the place, and 
they always smiled as though they were riding right up 
to heaven. He saw the big wheel inside, burnished like 
gold. How he wished Mum had said that he might 
touch it; just touch it ever so lightly. He drew closer, 
peering in. 

Whether he leaned in so far that he lost his balance, 
or, in turning, his crutch touched something below the 
wheel, he could not tell, all that he realized was, the 
car suddenly leaped forward, throwing him heavily to 
the ground, his two crutches flying in opposite direc¬ 
tions. Bound and round dashed the car in a circle 
around him, gathering speed with each instant, its doors 
crashing to and fro. 

The boy, lying in a heap where he had been flung, 
looked up through the clouds into God’s face, clutching 
his little hands together as he did every night at his 
mother’s knee,—then he knew no more. 

It had all happened within a moment of time; his 
mother had seen from the porch; with an awful cry 
she sprang to her feet, then fell fainting beside his 
vacant little chair. 


76 


WOODEN WIVES 


Her cry had reached Pauline, who stepped to the 
window just in time to witness what had taken place; 
in a crisis, there was not an instant to lose to call aid ; 
she never afterward remembered how she crossed the 
stretch of ground reaching the flying car. But one 
decision crossed her brain,—the only way to stop the 
car was to leap on the running board as it flashed past, 
—and reach for the wheel. 

She did not realize that she was taking her own life 
in her hands; all she knew, was, the circles the car was 
making grew narrower with each revolution it made;— 
another moment and it would pass over the mis-shapen 
little form crushing the life out of it. This realization 
nerved Pauline for the leap; twice it passed her;—the 
third time the girl sprung forward landing on the run¬ 
ning-board, another instant and she had grasped the 
wheel;—it shot forward, missing the boy by scarcely an 
inch,—on and on, crashing headlong into a stone fence 
at the further end of the grounds. It had all happened 
in almost a moment of time; a moment that seemed the 
length of eternity. 

Daniel Weslow, Mrs. Bemis, and tne entire household, 
with the exception of little Billy’s mother reached the 
grounds just as Pauline made the death-daring leap for 
the car. 

Daniel Weslow, with a face as pale as death dashed 
forward to the wrecked car; he expected to find his 
darling injured . . . Perhaps . . . 

He shouted aloud in his joy when she turned a white 
face to him, saying, "I saved the child, didn’t I?” 

He nodded assent. “You, too, have been saved by a 


WHO HAS NEVER KNOWN LOVE NEEDS SYMPATHY 77 

miracle, dear,” he sobbed, tears running down his cheek 
as he helped her to alight. Suddenly she slipped back 
into his arms. ‘ ‘ I—I— think I have sprained my ankle 
in the leap,” she whispered; and the next moment con¬ 
sciousness had left her. 

A physician was quickly summoned. “Only a slight 
sprain, but quite severe enough to keep her in bed and 
off her feet for a fortnight,” he declared, marveling 
that she had not met with instant death. 

Little Billy had recovered from his fright, and his 
mother from the deep swoon into which she had fallen. 

“Let me kiss the hem of her dress,” she pleaded, 
throwing herself on her knees beside Pauline's couch. 
“My little Billy was not much to look at, but he is all 
the world to me. My little baby boy; if he had been 
crushed to death I would have died too; I could not 
have lived if my brave little laddie had been taken 
from me.” 

Pauline laid her white hand on Mrs. Cully's bowed 
head; she seized it and covered it with fervent kisses. 

Prom that hour there was not one about the place 
who would not have laid down life itself,—for Mr. 
Daniel’s young wife, they loved her so sincerely. 

Of course, there was no honeymooning to be thought 
of at present. Mr. Daniel occupied his usual quarters, 
Mrs. Bemis being with Pauline. 

At her earnest request, the incident was not known 
to anyone outside of the members of the household, 
and the doctor. Daniel was devotion itself. His love 
grew stronger day by day; the only bitter drop in his 
cup of peace, was the fact that Pauline resolutely turned 


78 


WOODEN WIVES 


away from his kisses and caresses; even the clasp of 
his strong, warm hands seemed to annoy her. 

He did not understand the ways of women, attributing 
her moods to bashfulness. He looked eagerly forward to 
the time Pauline should fully recover, and they should 
begin their honeymoon. 

Senator Rae had stopped over on his way east, but 
not even to him did Pauline reveal the actual cause of 
her sprained ankle. 

It was Daniel’s great joy to carry her in his strong 
willing arms down to the dining room and back—and 
to wait upon her like a slave. 

On the evening of the third day after Pauline’s acci¬ 
dent, Daniel came hurriedly into her room, asking:— 
“ Would you mind if I do not come in and sit with 
you, tonight?” 

She did not tell him that it would be a relief to her. 

“The fact is, I am expecting a man to call,” he ex¬ 
plained. “We have not been the best of friends, but 
tonight we shall bury the hatchet for all time. A bright 
man was Reardon; he fell into evil ways and was dis¬ 
barred from practice for a couple of years; he has just 
turned up, after digging up cash from—Grod knows 
where,—made restitution of certain moneys, and wants 
to begin anew. I’m not th’ man t’ turn against a fellow 
who is trying to do the square thing. He asked to call, 
I consented; he heard of my marriage and begged per¬ 
mission to be introduced to you soon. It’s going to be 
just as you say, my Pauline,—but really, Reardon is an 
exceptionally bright fellow; he intends to be my right 
hand man in my fight for senatorial honors.” 


WHO HAS NEVER KNOWN LOVE NEEDS SYMPATHY 79 

* ‘ I suppose I may as well see him, ’ ’ assented Pauline, 
thinking that it would be a break at least, in the dead 
monotony which she would not endure much longer. 

Daniel carried her down to the drawing-room, de¬ 
positing her among the satin cushions, thinking he never 
saw her looking quite so lovely. 

He hoped with all his heart that Reardon would not 
notice how very lovely his bride was. It never occurred 
to him that the polished Reardon would make any im¬ 
pression upon his young bride. 

Pauline had expected to meet a man much after the 
pattern of Daniel Weslow, and the other westerners she 
had seen; her astonishment was great to behold in Mr. 
Reardon, who was bowing low before her, an unusually 
handsome man of winning personality—quite the type 
of society man she had known in the east. In that first 
moment of meeting, she had read admiration in the 
dark eyes that met her own, and the hand that clasped 
hers, trembled slightly, holding it longer than was ac¬ 
tually necessary. 

Somehow, he reminded her forcibly of—Hugh Boyd. 
He had the same manner of smiling; used the same 
gestures and expressions—and she had been trying so 
valiantly to forget Hughey,—and put him out of her 
thoughts. 

Pauline would have been agitated indeed if she could 
but have read Reardon’s thoughts in the first moment 
he beheld her. 

He had taken the trip west for the express purpose 
of carrying a message from his pal Hugh Boyd, to 
Pauline; Reardon was treacherous by nature,—and, at 


80 


WOODEN WIVES 


the first glance at the girl whom Boyd had lost, he de¬ 
termined that he would do nothing to aid him to get into 
communication with her. In Pauline, he saw the one 
girl whom he—could have loved. Inwardly, he raged 
at the thought that Daniel Weslow had married her. 
He knew—what she never imagined any one was aware 
of—the fact that there was no love in her heart for 
Daniel Weslow. 

The next few weeks were busy ones for Daniel; elec¬ 
tion day was now close at hand. During that time 
Reardon passed much time at the Weslow home, and 
was thrown much in the presence of Pauline. 

Daniel noted with no little anxiety, their growing 
friendliness; indeed, Reardon could bring a smile, or 
a laugh to her lips,—which he—her husband—could 
never do. Had he done right in bringing a younger— 
and handsomer man into his home? He put the thought, 
and fear from him as unworthy to Pauline, plunging 
the more deeply into his duties. He had no great desire 
to be a Senator;—he was doing all this for Pauline’s 
sake. His silent prayer was—that he might be every¬ 
thing she admired; attain any height which might make 
her glad she had married him. 

He was devotion itself to her, but,—though love blinds 
most men,—he could not help but notice how she shrank 
from his caresses, and how differently she greeted Rear¬ 
don. Instead of being drawn nearer together with the 
passing days, he felt they were somehow,—drifting 
slowly, but steadily apart. He felt that he could not 
endure this state of affairs much longer. 


CHAPTER VIII 


HOW LONG CAN MARRIAGE WITHOUT LOVE—ENDURE 

“And this is all! The end has come at last 
The bitter end of all my happy dream 
That cast a halo round my trusting heart 
Like golden sunshine on a summer day. 

But sunken rocks lie hid in every stream, 

And ships are wrecked when just in sight of land; 

So I today wake from my peaceful dream 
To find my hopes were builded on the sand. ’ ’ 

The day of the election dawned bright and clear. 
For the few weeks preceding it, Daniel had been home 
very little, owing to the campaign speeches he had been 
making—the length and breadth of his state. 

On this day he had returned very tired, but happy. 
His prospects looked bright;—that meant so much to 
him, for Pauline’s dear sake. 

His town folks greeted him enthusiastically as he 
stepped from the train. The servants of his household 
were lined up at the entrance gate to meet and greet 
him. He saw happy tears in every eye. —but—where 
was Pauline, his wife, whose greeting meant more to 
him than all the world. 

He strode quickly into the house, and up to her 
room; Pauline was sitting at her writing desk, pen in 
hand; so busily engaged that she did not hear his step, 
or, know of his presence. 

Was she writing to him, forgetting he was to be home 
81 


82 


WOODEN WIVES 


that day?—He tiptoed quietly to her side, peering over 
her shoulder at what she had written on the white page. 
As his eyes ran over the lines, a hand of ice seemed to 
grip his heart; he looked and read again to make sure 
he was not dreaming. She had written:— 

“Is it sinful in life—no joy to take; 

To feel like a captive, bound to a stake 

By a chain that binds us, and WILL NOT break.” 

“Pauline,” he said hoarsely, laying a heavy hand 

on her shoulder, “I-.” He stopped short, his eyes 

traveling to the written words on the paper. 

“You—you were eavesdropping !’’ she panted, spring¬ 
ing to her feet, her face turning from red to white. “It 
is like you to do such a thing! I should not be—sur¬ 
prised at it.” 

This was his greeting from her after five long weeks 
of absence; weeks in which he had counted the days, 
aye, the hours, until he should see her again. He sat 
down heavily on the nearest chair and looked at her. 

Once, while he was away he dreamed she had flown to 
meet him with kisses, her lovely face radiant with joy; 
he had lived on that dream; it had nerved him to do 
and dare, as nothing else in the world could have done. 
He had made the great speech of his life the next day. 

“Pauline, my darling,” he answered huskily, “I had 
no thought of eavesdropping; my aim was to take you— 
by surprise;—I could not help but read what you had 
written;—it went through my heart like a knife, for 
the fear sprang into it—that you—were not—happy, 
my love. Oh, tell me, that this fear is groundless, 
darling, or you will break my heart.” 


HOW LONG CAN MARRIAGE WITHOUT LOVE ENDURE 83 

Pauline was not one to resort to a falsehood; she 
would tell the truth at any cost, thus challenged. 

“You have known from the start that I was the most 
unhappy girl in the world,’’ she answered with a sob 
in her voice; “why dwell on it.” 

“Unhappy!” he echoed, looking at her in wonder, 
“have I not done everything in God’s world to please 
you, and make*you the happiest of women?” 

He tried to catch her hand, hut she drew back from 
him coldly. “Happy!” she repeated, “you knew that 
was impossible, when I married you—without—love— 
because it appeared to be my father’s dying command. 
I speak the word plainly—COMMAND,—even while he 
knew that every throb of my heart belonged to another. 

She hid her face in her hands, her slender form shak¬ 
ing with convulsive sobs, adding:—“my life is growing 
so unbearable—I cannot—stand it!” 

Daniel Weslow had risen slowly to his feet; his face 
was as pale as death; his right hand gripped the back 
of a chair. He resembled a giant oak that had been 
struck to the heart’s core by a flash of blinding light¬ 
ning ; struck and maimed. 

He looked at her with eyes from which all the bright¬ 
ness, light, and joy had fled; as a man’s eyes look who 
has been suddenly stricken with blindness which has 
shut out the light of the world forevermore. 

“Pauline!” he whispered chokingly, “are you telling 
me—there has been—another man in your life? I pray 
God I nave not heard—aright.” 

She was weeping so piteously she could not answer 
him; she could only nod in the affirmative. 


84 


WOODEN WIVES 


He came to her side, taking her hands forcibly, but 
very gently from her tear stained face. She could not 
look up at him. 

“Oh, my wife, my darling wife whom I have loved 
so well—better than life itself, how can I believe this! 
I am stunned! bewildered. I—I—married a very young 
girl;—who was scarcely more than a dreaming child; 
—not one who had known another love,—the caress of 
another man’s arms, another man’s kisses on her lips. 
Tell me that you have been saying these things to 
frighten me, my darling;—God would not be so—cruel 
—to me!” 

Pauline’s heart softened a little toward him when 
she saw how hard he was taking it;—she wished she 
had never made this confession to him,—but—had he 
not wrung it from her lips ? He had loved her as few men 
love,—and these lips—had uttered—his death-warrant. 

He rose unsteadily to his feet, looking at her with 
his hungry heart in his gaze. “Who is the man who won 
your heart; will you tell me, Pauline?” he queried 
wistfully. Her answer nearly took his breath away. 

“Hugh Boyd!” 

He reeled back from her as though she had struck 
him a blow. ^Boyd!” he gasped, “God!—surely not 
that thief, libertine, all around rascal!” 

She remembered those were the very words her father 
had used in denouncing her lover, and she took up the 
battle instantly in defense of Hugh. 

“You shall not stand another instant in my presence, 
denouncing the man I loved then, and now, and will 
always love!” she cried,—“Go!” 


HOW LONG CAN MARRIAGE WITHOUT LOYE ENDURE 85 

Daniel Weslow turned, and with unsteady steps quit¬ 
ted the room. He was just about leaving the house,—to 
go he knew not where,—caring still less, when he stum¬ 
bled against Mrs. Bemis in the main hall. 

She saw instantly, by his white face, some .terrible 
thing had befallen him. “ Where are you going, Mr. 
Daniel/’ she asked, “I wanted so much to have a few 
minutes with you.” 

“Tomorrow!” he muttered, “not now!—I am dazed 
—I cannot—think.” 

She took him by the hand, just as she had been wont 
to do when he was a boy,—drawing him gently into her 
cozy sitting room. 

She seated him in the chair he loved best to sit in, 
stroking his two trembling hands. “You look ill, my 
dear boy,” she murmured, “tell mammy, as you used to 
call me,—what is troubling you so; I—I—would give 
my life, Mr. Daniel—if by doing that, I could ward off 
a great sorrow from you.” 

He had not intended to tell her,—nor confide in any 
one, but, somehow, the custom of long years back,—in 
which he had kept no secret from, this kindly old soul 
to whom he was so dear, prevailed. He longed for con¬ 
solation,—advice, and ere he realized what he was doing, 
he had faltered out the whole story to her pitying ears. 

To say that Mrs. Bemis was shocked, puts it mildly; 
her face did not, however, betray her consternation. She 
drew up her chair beside him, again taking his hands 
in hers. In that one moment of time she had decided 
upon the advice she was to give him; she felt sure she 
could talk him into doing just as she said. 


86 


WOODEN WIVES 


“Daniel, boy,—yon are making a mountain out of a 
mole-bill/' she said,—doing her best to smile. “Know 
this;—almost every young girl has a—youthful romance, 
which they are wont to miscall—a love affair. 

“The wise parents of girls usually, I might say—al¬ 
ways nip it in the bud,—encouraging a worthier suitor 
for their child's hand. 

“She weds the man her parents have encouraged. 
Some of these girls imagine, for a little while, that they 
are still in love with the romantic other fellow; a wise 
husband pays no attention to this girlish nonsense know¬ 
ing, in good time, she will forget that girlish fancy, and 
turn to his—as the sun-flower turns to the sun. Have 
a little patience, Daniel, boy and I promise you all will 
be well, between you and Pauline. 

“Just forget all the foolish child—for she is little 
else than that—said, and did; love her as dearly as 
you have always done; pet her; give her her own way, 
and make no allusion to this little flurry. You know, 
there is a line of poetry which tells us—‘True love 
never runs smooth . 9 

“You must not forget this is the great night of your 
life, boy; ere the sun rises you will be elected—Senator 
—You will be Oklahoma's best loved leader; she will 
be proud of you; trust my word for it." 

“Do you really believe this, Mrs. Bemis?" he asked 
slowly, a sunny smile chasing the heavy clouds from 
his face. “Do not lead me to hope,—unless you know 
you are right;—you are a woman;—you know the hearts 
of girls—I do not; tell me, truly,—if I appear to take 


HOW LONG CAN MARRIAGE WITHOUT LOVE ENDURE 87 

no notice of what has happened,—will it be all right— 
with Pauline ? ’’ he queried anxiously. 

“Have no fear on that score, Mr. Daniel,” she assured 
him. She was glad that at that moment a number of 
delegates called, and his attention would be so engrossed 
with them, he would not have time to think over his 
sorrow. 

When she saw him engaged in the library with them, 
she went directly to Pauline’s room. She knew she 
would have to use much diplomacy with the girl whom 
she had made up her mind to influence in Mr. Daniel’s 
favor if it lay within human power. 

She found Pauline lying on her divan weeping bit¬ 
terly. 

In a moment her motherly arms were about her, the 
girl’s curly head pillowed on her breast. “What a 
silly little girl to weep,” she began,—I want to assure 
you dear, Mr. Daniel will be elected senator in this 
great contest,—and everyone is saying,—even I,—that 
you deserve all the praise of it;—for your devotion to 
him in this trying experience. We will be sure to know 
the result by eleven, tonight; the whole town will gather 
about the place, and he will have to come out and speak 
to the people. 

“You must be by his side;—that will give him am¬ 
bition to say wonderful things—that will—make history 
for him—and—you. 

“In this hour, love can make or break a man.” 

She felt the girl’s slender form tremble in her clasp, 
even heard her mutter under her breath “I—cannot— 
I—am—going—back—to my—father! ’ ’ 


88 


WOODEN WIVES 


“You will not fail him, when the respect and devo¬ 
tion of every one in his home town,-—and of course you 
most of all, means so much to him—. 

“Realize, dear Pauline,—in your hands lies his VIC¬ 
TORY, or DOWNFALL!” 

The good woman talked for an hour or more, bringing 
up every telling argument to advance Mr. Daniel’s cause 
which she could think of. 

At length Pauline raised her head from her shoulder 
whispering:— 

“My—my—husband and I have had a terrible fall¬ 
ing out, Mrs. Bemis; we—tacitly—understood we were 
never to look upon each other’s face again.” 

“Tut, tut! my dear,” laughed Mrs. Bemis, “a mere 
lover’s quarrel. I—want you to promise me that you 
will take no notice of it. Mr. Daniel is sure to forget 
it by the time he left the room;— he is too wonderful 
a man to hold anger against the dearest little wife in 
the world. 

“Remember the people will expect to see you with 
him on the porch; he will be grateful to you for your 
presence beside him,—and oh, my dear, so will I. If 
you hesitated about standing by his side, the dear fellow 
would feel so miserable he might be tempted to throw 
over the senatorship then and there. Believe me it 
is a close tie, the greatest Oklahoma has ever known, 
every one says. Stand by Mr. Daniel, dear, wont you?” 

Her persuasion wrung from Pauline a reluctant assent. 

A little later Mrs. Bemis hurried to Daniel who was 
now in the library alone. She stooped over him, brushed 
the stray locks back from his brow, whispering:_ 


HOW LONG CAN MARRIAGE WITHOUT LOVE ENDURE 89 

“Pauline is jubilant; she is sure you are to win; and 
if her hopes come true, and the cheering crowd gather 
about the place—shouting to see you, she intends to 
come out on the balcony hand in hand with you, and 
thank them for electing her dear husband. ’ 5 ■ 

“By gingo is that so!” cried Daniel, leaping from 
his chair and dancing around the room like a hilarious 
school-boy, in his exuberant excitement. “You were 
right, and I was wrong, Mrs. Bemis! Oh, what a fool 
I was to doubt my darling wife,—God bless her!” 

Looking at him, Mrs. Bemis told herself she had done 
the greatest day’s work of her life. Just as had been 
predicted, Daniel Weslow was elected by a large ma¬ 
jority. At midnight all of Oklahoma City, bearing 
torches and fairly mad with delight, gathered in front 
of the Weslow home to pay the new Senator homage. 
Daniel heard their cheers to the echo and their calls 
for him as he stood irresolute in the corridor. 

Then he saw Mrs. Bemis and Pauline approaching 
from the other end. 

He never knew how Mrs. Bemis hurried her along, 
apparently smiling and nodding at happy words Pauline 
was uttering,—while in reality Pauline was saying never 
a word. It was Mrs. Bemis who flung open the door 
that led to the porch, pushed her forward and slipped 
Pauline’s nerveless hand in Daniel’s. 

All he realized was—the great cheering, and that 
Pauline was standing by his side, her hand clasped in 
his, proud of his victory; As her father had predicted, 
the old Senator’s daughter, was now the younger Sena¬ 
tor’s wife. 


90 


WOODEN WIVES 


Then and there Daniel was silently asinng God to 
make him worthy of not only Pauline’s confidence, but 
the confidence of the people as well; he would do the 
best that was in him for them. 

Reardon stood amidst the throng, listening to their 
plaudits with darkening brow. From the moment of 
their appearance on the balcony he had been watching 
not the Senator,—but—his lovely young wife. 

He knew that electing Winslow to the senate, meant 
that he would soon leave the west with his wife,—for 
—Washington. But that would not take place probably, 
for some three months later. 

“Much can take place in three months,” he thought 
as he threw away his cigar and made his way into the 
house with a favored few, to offer Weslow his con¬ 
gratulations—and—have a few moments’ chat with his 
wife. 

This hope was doomed to disappointment, however. 
He found the Senator surrounded by his ardently ad¬ 
miring friends;—Pauline was not there. No one would 
ever know how the faithful old housekeeper was working 
in Mr. Daniel’s interest, to patch up the breach between 
them—her joy was unspeakable when Pauline promised 
she would try a little longer to live with them;—at least 
until it was time to go east,—where her father, her 
home, and all her friends were. 

Mrs. Bemis_felt grateful for this respite; surely, by 
that time her adored Mr. Daniel would have won his 
way to Pauline’s heart; for, a great love must win love 
in return,—blotting out any romance of the past. 


CHAPTER IX 


AFTER ELECTION 

* 1 Where apples redden, do not pry, 

Lest we lose our Eden, You and I . 79 
****** 

“Yet ah! Why should we know our fate 
Since sorrow never conies too late 
And happiness too swiftly flies 

Thought would destroy their paradise 
Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” 

The days that followed, were busy ones for Daniel 
Weslow. Every one was jubilant over his election. 
Old people walked weary miles to look upon his face 
and shake his hand; children brought him flowers; 
bands came from every part of the state to serenade 
him; every one wished him well. 

He had very little time to devote to Pauline, and 
was obliged to be away from home much. It was well 
for his peace of mind that he did not know the relief 
this was to Pauline. 

She tried her best to be honorable, to forget Hugh¬ 
ey,—but—love such as she had known could not be 
torn from the heart so easily. 

“And then she was aware of,—first 
That she, not knowing it, had nursed 
His memory till it grew a part— 

A heart within her very heart .’ 9 

91 


92 


WOODEN WIVES 


She had not heard one word from him; she wond¬ 
ered that he could give her up so readily; even a let¬ 
ter filled with bitter, angry reproach from him would 
have appeased her; but his silence, that was some¬ 
thing she could not brook calmly. 

She would have been desperately miserable, out 
there in the far west, had it not been for the letters 
of her father and Marcelle, and occasionally from Mrs. 
Holt. Her father’s were quite as much for Daniel 
as for herself, showing in every line how fond he was 
of him. Marcelle’s were bright and newsy. She al¬ 
ways ended with:—“It was so good of you to insist 
that I stay here and look after your dear old father. 
I am doing my best; he has turned to me to provide 
for him the many little comforts that he depended on 
you for, dear.” 

Mrs. Holt’s letters always wound up with:—“The 
French girl is still here; looks as if she had no notion 
of ever going. She is always at your father’s elbow. 
He used to ask— my —opinion on the household mat¬ 
ters; now—he asks Tier’s; I shall be so glad when you 
come back east; so glad.” 

By this Pauline gathered—the old housekeeper had 
taken a most violent dislike to the pretty French girl; 
she did not attach undue importance to it, however. 
She was not sufficiently worldly-wise to do so. 

She did not see the covert meaning Mrs. Holt meant 
to convey in her letter—that the wily French girl had 
set her cap for the old Senator. This was the case, 
however. Marcelle Valleau was a girl without 
scruple—when she found the man whom she could 


AFTER ELECTION 


93 


have loved had slipped from her grasp by wedding 
another, she dried her tears with grim determination 
—since she could not marry for love,—she would mar¬ 
ry for—money. 

The Senator filled the latter requirement exactly. 
He was old and bald-headed, but, he was credited to 
be worth nearly a million. 

Marcelle took Pauline’s place in the household, soon 
making herself quite a necessity to his comfort. It 
was Marcelle who read his morning paper to him, 
helped him sort his legal papers, even typed off much 
of his correspondence when he felt inclined not to go 
down to the office. 

“I do not see how I ever got along without you, 
child,” he often declared gratefully. On one of these 
occasions Marcelle looked up at him with shining eyes, 
murmuring softly:— 

“Am I indeed necessary to your—happiness, Sena¬ 
tor? Do you mean it?” 

“Yes,” he answered, readily enough, not supposing 
she was leading him into deep water. “I certainly 
owe you a debt of gratitude.” 

“I have made you forget—your—loneliness?” she 
queried. 

He nodded, “I should have been very lonely, but 
for you,” he assented. 

She crept nearer to him, raising her lovely young 
face to his aged one, whispering tremulously:—“You 
were lonely because you have shut love and loving 
from your yearning heart, which is the mistaken idea 
of many a widower;—they need a companion, one 


94 


WOODEN WIVES 


nearer and dearer than all others,—yet,—stumble 
along in life’s path—alone. I have been wondering— 
oh, Senator Eae, I have been wondering why such a 
noble man as yourself,—so capable of making some 
good woman happy, why you are not contemplating— 
marrying again.” 

He looked down into the flushed, beautiful young 
face in amazement. “I—marry again!” he echoed. 
“I have never had such a thought; the dear wife 
whom I have lost was the best woman that ever lived; 
I would never put any one in her place; her memory 
is sacred to me.” 

“But, Senator,” murmured the sweetly pleading 
voice, “can memory—suffice? Are there not moments 
when your very soul cries out for the touch of a 
human hand—for companionship,—aye—and—love ? A 
man is as young as his heart is;—your’s has not 
grown old. You have done all that the best husband 
would do for the dear departed,—now—you should 
pay a little consideration to yourself, and for a mate 
to love you through your declining years, you are so 
worthy of it.” 

Senator Eae looked down at the girl, who had come 
and knelt down on the hassock at his feet, in utter 
amazement, and that is putting it mildly. 

To add to his bewilderment, he saw great tears 
coursing down the beautiful cheeks. He never after¬ 
ward remembered just how it occurred, but, the blood 
which had been wont to course so calmly through his 
veins, took a sudden leap, instantly flooding his heart 
and brain;—“Marcelle,” he whispered,—a veritable 


AFTER ELECTION 95 

fever burning its way from his heart to his lips, as he 
whispered hoarsely. 

“Iam old, now, dear girl, I would never dare think 
of—love,—or expect I could inspire so wonderful a 
passion in any woman’s heart.’’ 

“No one could be thrown for any length of time in 
your presence—without—learning to—care for you,” 
she whispered, hiding her face in both of her hands. 

The Senator bent forward, taking her hands in his. 

“Am I to understand that I—though God knows it 
was unwittingly on my—part,—have inspired love in 
your young heart, Marcelle?” he asked, gravely. 

She nodded, turning away from him! he did not see 
the curl on her lip which her handkerchief hid. 

“How am I to repair what I have caused!” he ex¬ 
claimed more to himself than to her. “Poor Mar- 
eelle! Poor little girl!” 

“I am going away from you—out into the cold 
world,” she announced. “After the confession which 
has been wrung from my lips in a moment of mad¬ 
ness,—I can no longer stay—unless you wanted 
me-” 

“Unless I proposed marriage to you?” he asked 
breathlessly. Her smile through her tears answered 
him. 

“Are you quite sure of yourself,—that you actually 
love an old man like me,—and would be willing to 
marry me?” he queried, incredulously. 

“Yes,” she responded promptly, almost before he 
had finished his sentence, wondering if he was waver¬ 
ing. 



96 


WOODEN WIVES 


*‘Then it shall be as yon wish, dear girl,” he whisp¬ 
ered. He was dumbfounded when she suddenly threw 
her arms about him, giving him a resounding kiss, ex¬ 
claiming gleefully, * 4 Then we are betrothed; but I can 
scarcely believe it is really true, until your engage¬ 
ment ring is shining on my finger—a splendid ring I 
am sure it will be,—one worthy of such a grand lover 
as yourself, dear.” 

After the Senator went to his room, he paced un¬ 
easily up and down for long hours, questioning him¬ 
self as to whether he had done a wise thing. When 
he had heard, or read, of well to do, elderly widowers 
marrying young women, his remark had always been: 
“There is no fool like an old fool;—a man should 
have sense enough to know it is against human nature 
for a young woman to love an aged man;—they do 
well to endure his presence. The man’s wealth ties 
unto himself her freedom; but all the gold in the uni¬ 
verse could not purchase for him—her affection. 
Mixed with his contempt was pity for the old men 
ever catering to the whims of impatient young wives. 
And—now,—he was about to join the band he had 
always ridiculed. Now he understood, as never be¬ 
fore, how such marriages came about, and the belief, 
past all doubting, that love might still be won by him. 
He argued with himself that it was neither wise, nor 
best, for man to live alone, passing his days in lone¬ 
liness when he might enjoy the presence of a loving 
mate;—one young, strong, helpful to lean upon in his 
declining years.” Thus, men convince themselves 


AFTER ELECTION 97 

against their better judgment, that mismated hearts 
become congenial:— 

* ‘ Two souls with but one single thought, 

Two hearts that beat as one.” 

The next morning Senator Rae informed Marcelle 
that he had concluded the marriage might as well take 
place at once—a man of his age could not afford to 
waste time. To his surprise she demurred. 

“We will wait awhile,” she declared. “In the 
meantime we must keep our betrothal a profound se¬ 
cret,—even from the servants here.’’ 

The truth regarding the situation was4n the 
morning’s papers she had read of Daniel Weslow’s 
victory in being elected to the Senate. She knew that 
meant he and Pauline would soon take up their resi¬ 
dence in Washington. They would be sure to invite 
her to visit them. As guest in the Senator’s home she 
would be brought into contact with many a million¬ 
aire ; they could not all be old; among them she might 
find one young, and good to look upon, who had 
wealth as well. In that case, she ruminated, it would 
not take her long to throw over her aged, bald-headed 
lover for one more suited to her fancy. She meant to 
give herself every chance ere tying herself down. 

Of course a young sweetheart’s word is law to an 
aged wooer. It was agreed that the announcement of 
the betrothal,—as well as to when the wedding should 
take place, should rest entirely with Marcelle. 

At this stage of the affair, Mrs. Holt, the house¬ 
keeper, unconsciously brought the matter to a climax 
by insisting upon a few words in private with the 


98 


WOODEN WIVES 


Senator. He did not like the tone of voice in which 
she made the request, but he had no choice but to 
acquiesce. 

Mrs. Holt did not mince matters, but got to the 
point at once. In a few words she told him that he 
was exposing himself to scandal,—in fact, it was the 
talk of the neighborhood that he was harboring be¬ 
neath his roof a young and beautiful unmarried wo¬ 
man who was neither kith nor kin to him. That such 
hospitality was open to criticism. She ended by in¬ 
forming him if he persisted in Miss Valleau’s remain¬ 
ing there, she would not stand for it,—on the con¬ 
trary, after thirty years of faithful service, she would 
tender her resignation—and—leave. 

The Senator was furious! How dared they speak 
lightly of Miss Valleau’s remaining beneath his roof! 
He would show all the old busy-bodies, and would-be 
scandal mongers; ha! he’d show ’em. Mrs. Holt might 
do as she pleased; no one on earth should dictate to 
him how he was to run his home, or whom he should 
entertain beneath his roof. 

Marcelle, who was passing the door, stopped to 
listen; she came hurriedly into the drawing room, tak¬ 
ing the subject out of the Senator’s mouth, and sett¬ 
ling it her own way. 

“1 will go, Mrs. Holt,” she said, haughtily, “1 will 
take up my residence at an art club for the present, 
until,—well, I have just received a letter from Mrs. 
Weslow, announcing she will soon be in Washington, 
and inviting me to pay her a long visit there,—which 
I intend to accept.” 


AFTER ELECTION 


99 


Mrs. Holt bowed stiffly and withdrew from the 
room. She was overjoyed at the prospect the hated 
young French girl was to leave the house, and at once, 
but she felt greatly worried that Pauline intended to 
harbor her. “She will make trouble between our little 
girl and Daniel Weslow,” she ruminated, “somehow, 
I feel it in my heart; I can only say—God forbid.’’ 

Despite the Senator’s earnest appeals to Marcelle to 
marry him at once, and thus end matters, he found 
her firm in her refusal. He offered to make over to 
her then and there three-fourths of his splendid for¬ 
tune if she would consent. She was inexorable. 

“That shows me my darling is not marrying me for 
money,” he thought exultantly. “It will certainly be 
for love, and love only.” 

He stood long before the pier glass, studying 
earnestly his reflection there. His figure was still 
straight, what hair he had was white; he wore spec¬ 
tacles—but he saw himself as he was forty years be¬ 
fore, a spruce young man, who might well enter the 
race even for a young woman’s heart and hand,—and 
win. Infatuation had blinded him effectually. 

Marcelle wrote to Pauline at once, accepting her in¬ 
vitation, then she left the Rae home with all possible 
haste. 

With apparent reluctance she accepted the large 
roll of bills the Senator insisted upon pressing upon 
her, and with still greater reluctance gave him the 
promise she would let him know when it was ex¬ 
hausted. She had no present need of it, for the cash 
Hugh Boyd had handed her was intact in her pocket. 


100 


WOODEN WIVES 


She felt highly elated at the prospect that she would 
not now be obliged to pass her afternoons and eve¬ 
nings with the doughty old Senator who regaled her, 
supposedly, with tales of the battles he had fought, 
and won in the Senate. From all this glory he was 
sure to drift into the one subject he was keen to dwell 
upon, his rheumatism, and what the different special¬ 
ists thought they knew about it; his attacks of lum¬ 
bago and gout and how he had bested them, until 
Marcelle was ready to scream, he was getting so 
frightfully on her nerves. 

Until she went on her Washington visit, she knew 
she would have to endure his presence if he called 
during the afternoons,—evenings, his feebleness kept 
him confined to the house by the doctor’s strict 
orders. 

Therefore, evenings she could have her fling of the 
delights of the Great White Way; she could enjoy the 
cabarets, if they ran them here as they did in gay, 
mad Paree,—go to the still gayer French masked balls. 
Enjoy life and youth—as she had done in the past— 
to the top of her bent. 

Pauline received Marcelle’s graceful letter of ac¬ 
ceptance, and one from Mrs. Holt, by the same mail. 
She could not help but smile as she glanced over the 
latter. Most of Mrs. Holt’s letter was about Marcelle. 

In part, she wrote:—“Thank th’ Lord that French 
girl has left, bag and baggage,—though your father 
seemed considerably put out over it. 

“If you take my advice, Pauline, my dear little 
love, you will not let her into your house when you 


AFTER ELECTION 


101 


and Daniel get to Washington. She will make trouble 
for you if you do,—mark my words. She cut the pic¬ 
ture of Daniel from the paper, had it magnificently 
framed, and on her dresser. She did not cut your’s 
out—which was beside his. She took the picture with 
her.” 

Pauline left that letter lying carelessly about, open; 
Daniel happened to come across it, and carelessly 
enough, read it. His amazement was great that this 
girl whom he scarcely remembered, should have cut 
out, framed, and had taken his picture away with her. 
He found himself puzzling over the incident, not once, 
but many times. He wished Pauline took enough in¬ 
terest in him to do that. He remembered there was a 
picture of this girl Marcelle on Pauline’s mantel. The 
next time he went into her boudoir he looked for it. 


CHAPTER X 


WHEN HEARTS ARE DRIFTING APART 

11 Great and good persons well may be, 

Free from guilt, but not from envy free, 

Envy dodges success, and every victor’s crown 
Is lined with thorns and worn midst scoffs.” 

******* 

11 Known mischiefs have their cure; 

But doubts have none, 

And better is despair than faithless hope 
Mixed with a killing fear.” 

During Daniel Weslow’s busy days, Reardon placed 
his services entirely at Pauline’s disposal. She was 
invited everywhere, and as she could not go alone, she 
was glad of the young attorney as an escort. 

They went hither and thither in the spacious auto¬ 
mobile Daniel had provided for his wife. Much to 
Reardon’s annoyance, the chauffeur usually had one 
ear so turned that he could hear all that was said by 
the occupants of the car. Reardon made up his mind 
to get rid of him. Soon after, the man was offered 
twice as much wages as he was getting, to go to a 
place some distance away, with a home for himself 
and family thrown into the bargain. He accepted with 
alacrity. 

Pauline’s dismay was great at this contretemps, es- 
102 


WHEN HEARTS ARE DRIFTING APART 103 

pecially as Daniel was away. As usual Reardon came 
to her rescue, when she was in difficulty. 

“Do not let that worry you in the least, Mrs. Wes- 
low/ * he said. “I am quite as capable of managing a 
car as he is, and will gladly take my place at the 
wheel until he can be replaced/ ’ 

Pauline was very grateful for this timely assistance. 
On several occasions as he placed her in the car, she 
noted an odd smile playing about his lips; she did not 
know he was saying to himself:—“Two is company, 
three is none.” 

On these trips he talked to her gaily, striving as he 
had never striven before to interest, and please. 
Pauline found herself more than once congratulating 
herself upon having so agreeable a companion to help 
her pass the dreary days. Every one noted what a 
handsome couple Pauline and Reardon made, even 
commenting upon it. Others whispered that plain 
Daniel Weslow must be out of his mind to permit his 
beautiful young wife to go gallivanting about so much 
with such a handsome, fascinating—even dangerous— 
man. Reardon had the reputation of being a decided 
Don Juan among women who were young and beau¬ 
tiful. He had broken many hearts, and had ridden 
sneeringly away. 

The people who knew him well declared he was en¬ 
joying a desperate flirtation with Weslow’s young 
wife; some insisted the unsuspecting husband should 
be tipped off concerning it, but there was not one of 
them brave enough to go to Daniel Weslow with such 
a story on his lips. Meanwhile, Reardon was doing 


104 


WOODEN WIVES 


his best to win from Pauline a deeper sentiment than 
kindly regard, or friendship. 

He had commenced the game he was playing for the 
mere sport of it; but gradually he became aware that 
for him it would end in a life and death struggle. A 
fierce, overwhelming passion filled his heart and soul, 
a maddening, destructive torrent that had overswept 
all bonds. 

One intense longing possessed him, which was,— 
that Pauline and Daniel Weslow should drift apart— 
if she were but free he might woo and win her. He 
determined that his attentions to Pauline, which every 
one noticed but herself,—might be the means of bring¬ 
ing this about. 

Although he had been much alone with her, rid¬ 
ing to and fro, he had never dared overstep the bonds 
of propriety by making any sort of advances denoting 
tenderness to her. He could see she was not the kind 
of a girl to brook it. He knew she did not love Daniel 
Weslow, but for all that his honor would be safe in 
her keeping. He knew too, even though Hugh Boyd 
were to appear, though they had been lovers, she 
would not allow him to approach her on the old foot¬ 
ing. Her high sense of honor and duty would be her 
shield. Yes, she and Hugh were parted for good. This 
thought gave him exultation,—keen joy. 

In his breast pocket he carried a dozen or more let¬ 
ters which Boyd had sent to him under separate 
cover, begging, threatening, urging him to deliver 
them to Pauline and get an answer from her for him. 

Reardon always wrote back he “had delivered the 


WHEN HEARTS ARE DRIFTING APART 105 

letters/’ adding, “If she does not choose to reply, how 
can I help it!” He knew well Boyd would not ven¬ 
ture to come west,—with half of the detectives in the 
country searching for him—to nab him. Every now 
and then Reardon would make a bonfire of Boyd’s ac¬ 
cumulated missives, smiling grimly at the thought— 
burned letters can tell no tales. 

As for Pauline, she thought more highly of Reardon 
than he had any reason to suspect; she noted how so¬ 
licitous he was for her every comfort; how very en¬ 
tertaining he was; how eager to be of service to her, 
and the light that flashed into his eyes, and the flush 
that rose to his cheeks—if she remarked the drive had 
been a pleasant one, or that she had enjoyed the af¬ 
ternoon. Commonplace, courteous remarks upon her 
part, but they seemed to afford him great happiness. 
At last she noticed with much surprise, that it was not 
her fancy, but his hand actually trembled as he helped 
her in or out of her car, and his arm lingered longer 
than was necessary as he folded her wraps about her 
shoulders. Girl like, the thought she had made a con¬ 
quest, amused Pauline as the knowledge dawned upon 
her. She had accepted an invitation to attend a ball 
which was to be given in honor of Daniel and herself. 
He had telegraphed he would not be„home, that Rear¬ 
don would take her over; she must not miss it, for it 
was to be the most brilliant affair ever held in Okla¬ 
homa in honor of a Senator-elect. 

Pauline promised herself that she would go this 
once, but henceforth it must be with a chauffeur, and 
not Lawyer Reardon, her husband’s friend. It had 


108 


WOODEN WIVES 


also dawned upon Pauline why he did not get her a 
new chauffeur as he had promised—he desired to drive 
her about—himself. 

This thought was most disquieting to her; she did 
not speak of it to Mrs. Bemis who seemed to have al¬ 
ready formed a great aversion to the handsome young 
man who was taking Mr. Daniel’s wife about during 
his absence. Pauline would rather not have attended 
this ball, but, as her husband had been so insistent 
that she should go, she saw no way out of it. 

Night drew on exceedingly cold; a heavy snow lay 
on the ground, a full moon shed its radiance over the 
earth, the sky overhead being sown with myriads of 
twinkling stars. 

“A wonderful night,’’ remarked Reardon, as he 
helped her into the car, which he had had warmly 
heated. “You have in store for you some twenty miles 
of splendid scenery. The roads over mountain and 
plain have been traversed so much all danger of 
trouble with automobiles is eliminated. If you would 
sit in the front seat, beside me, on this occasion, I 
could point out much that would interest,—won’t 
you?” 

Pauline did not know how she could refuse this, the 
only actual request he had ever made of her, and took, 
mechanically, the place indicated. 

She saw that he was looking long and earnestly at 
her, making no attempt to break the silence by point¬ 
ing out the places they were passing. 

For the first time in his life, Reardon was near los¬ 
ing control of himself; he did not see the stretch of 


WHEN HEARTS ARE DRIFTING APART 107 

road ahead, or any of the scenery around and about 
them; all that he saw was a beautiful young woman 
with a face framed in curling golden hair, which was 
fairer than a poet's dream—eyes as bright as the 
stars above them; red lips and dimpled cheeks in 
which the color was coming and going. She wore a 
long enveloping wrap of soft white fur, its hood being 
drawn over her head. 

“You are looking like a goddess tonight, Paul— 
Mrs. Weslow," he breathed. “I wish with all my 
heart I had been born an artist, that I might paint 
upon canvas—you, as you are tonight." 

Pauline flushed; it was sweet to be flattered, but her 
woman's good judgment warned her she must not 
encourage it. 

“What place is that?" she queried, ignoring his re¬ 
mark and pointing at random out of the window. He 
turned his gaze in that direction. 

“You mean that lone, tumbled down cabin?" She 
nodded. 

“That has quite a bit of romance connected with 
it," he responded. “As the story goes, a young man, 
a violin player, and his sweetheart were returning 
from a dance. He had been the only musician; just 
as they reached that place, they heard the baying of 
wolves—coyotes, in the distance—which each moment 
sounded nearer and nearer. The girl clung to her 
lover in mortal fright. Both realized the pack were 
on their trail; and it would be but a question of mo¬ 
ments ere they were upon them. Like an inspiration 
came the thought to him to reach the roof by the up- 


108 


WOODEN WIVES 


finished ladder alongside of the wall. She did his bid¬ 
ding quickly, he climbing up after her. He had bare¬ 
ly succeeded in drawing the ladder up after him when 
the pack reached the spot. All night long she clung 
to him; still he played his violin, played as he had 
never played before. The strains of weird music held 
the pack at bay until morning and rescuers ap¬ 
peared.” 

Pauline looked frightened; it was a weird tale. He 
laughed and turned the conversation and her thoughts 
into another channel. He talked so brightly of the 
people whom she was to meet, and their great expec¬ 
tation of seeing her, that Pauline soon forgot all save 
the pleasure in store for her. Soon after, the lights 
of the place where the grand ball was to be held, 
loomed up ahead of them. 

There was a buzz of expectancy which suddenly 
hushed to intense silence as the young wife of their 
Senator-elect entered the ball-room leaning upon Rear¬ 
don's arm. This was instantly followed with deafen¬ 
ing applause and cheers of welcome. 

Ah, how they must love Daniel to accord her such 
a greeting. 

The people of Oklahoma, gathered there, had de¬ 
cided they should either like or dislike Daniel Wes- 
low's wife—at first sight. 

As she advanced into their midst,—a slight girlish 
person in filmy white, without other ornament than a 
single pink rose at her belt, her f golden hair drawn 
loosely back, and no makeup on her face save the deli¬ 
cate coloring God had given her,—her violet eyes 


WHEN HEARTS ARE DRIFTING APART 109 

looking appealingly into theirs, every one in the 
grand ball-room felt his and her heart warm toward 
her. The women took to her at once, and there was 
not a man present who would not have fought to a 
finish for her. 

Reardon was intensely proud of her, delighted at 
the enthusiastic welcome she received. He had the 
first dance with her, but he held her so closely Pauline 
felt disturbed. She was beginning to feel a vague dis¬ 
trust of him. He would dance with no one else during 
the entire evening. 

The Governor, a bachelor, though a lover of woman 
beautiful, paid profound attention to Pauline; he had 
not been able to reach there for the first dance, which 
he regretted sincerely. 

Reardon watched them as they glided through the 
measures the length and breadth of the room, burning 
anger in his gaze; a fact which many noticed but re¬ 
frained from commenting upon. 

Reardon drew a sigh of relief when Pauline an¬ 
nounced she wished to go home. It was the Governor 
who escorted her to her car and assisted her in, even 
then lingering to chat with her. 

Every one at the ball gathered on the long porch to 
bid her good-night, and thank her for coming. 

At last they were off, and on the lonely road home¬ 
ward again. 

“It has been a delightful evening,” mused Pauline, 
more to herself than f her companion. Reardon made 
no reply. He seemed to be driving the car most reck¬ 
lessly, she noticed. 


110 


WOODEN WIVES 


At length he turned to her abruptly, saying, “You 
danced with the Governor half a dozen times.’’ 

She turned and looked at him in astonishment, 
though she answered calmly “Possibly.’’ The smile 
on her lips maddened him. 

He bent nearer her, so near his hot breath scorched 
her face. 

“I could not have endured it a moment longer!” he 
cried hoarsely. “Had you danced with him again I 
would have torn you from his arms, struck him!” 

Pauline turned sharply to him in unfeigned amaze¬ 
ment ; she could scarcely believe she had heard aright. 
The expression on his face terrified her; he was very 
pale, and his eyes gleamed like coals of fire in the un¬ 
certain light within the car. She was not worldly- 
wise. She did not know that, in such a state, it would 
have been diplomatic to have temporized with him in¬ 
stead of angering him. She said cuttingly: 

“How dare you presume to utter such words? What 
right have you to interest yourself as to whom I shall 
dance with? If my husband does not object to my 
dancing with the Governor, I do not see why you 
should, Mr. Reardon.” 

He laughed the harshest laugh that ever fell from 
human lips. “Your hushand !”—he echoed, “What do 
you care what he thinks or does; you do not love him! 
Aye! you despise Daniel Weslow, to whom you are 
yoked in marriage.” 

She drew back from him with a gasp of dismay, 
her eyes dilating, but he did not notice, going on reck¬ 
lessly: “It does not matter how I know of it, or the 


WHEN HEARTS ARE DRIFTING APART 111 

fact you were forced as it were into this bond, bitterly 
against your will,—the fact exists, you had no love 
for Weslow at the time of your marriage; you have 
less for that sage-bush-of-a-man, now!” 

“Stop,!” cried Pauline, “I command you!” 

He laughed again that horrible laugh. “Not until 
I have finished,” he cried, hoarsely; “you shall listen 
to me here and now, Pauline. The clown you are tied 
to cannot prevent me from telling you that I—love— 
you! Love you madly, desperately, as man never 

loved woman before. You and I-” 

The sentence was never finished; Pauline had risen 
to her feet. “Stop!” she shrilled in a ringing voice, 
and the command was accompanied with a stinging 
blow from her hand upon his mouth. It surprised 
even herself that she could hit so hard. 

The sudden onslaught surprised him; for an instant 
he lost his grip on the wheel, jolting backward. With 
the sudden backing of the car, in that instant Pauline 
seized the wheel, with her right hand, with her left 
flinging open the door, pushed him by main force 
through it. The backward jolt of the car aided her. 
Reardon landed face downward in a deep snowdrift, 
from which he found much difficulty in attempting to 
struggle to his feet. 

Pauline beheld the lights from a small inn a few 
rods away, and dark forms running toward them. 
Quick as a thought she pulled the door to, gave the 
It was some moments ere she fully recovered her 
wheel a rapid whirl, and the next instant was lost to 
sight in the distance^ 


112 


WOODEN WIVES 


scattered senses. Should she tell her husband of the 
humiliation she had been subject to, or keep the dis¬ 
tressing affair from him? 

She well knew Daniel Weslow was no sage-bush of 
a man; if he had but the slightest inkling of what had 
taken place it would mean a combat to the death be¬ 
tween him—and the cur—Reardon. 

So intent was Pauline with these conflicting 
thoughts, she was scarcely conscious of which road 
she was taking. Looking out, in consternation, she 
realized they had not passed that way before. She 
had — lost — her — road. Simultaneously with that convic¬ 
tion, a sound that struck terror to her heart fell upon 
her ear—the unmistakable howling of coyotes in the 
distance, growing more distinct each instant. 


CHAPTER XI 


MISTRUST 

“I want to give to others hope and faith, 

I want to do all that the Master saith. 

I want to live aright from day to day 

I’m sure I shall not pass again this way . 9 ’ 

Pauline stopped the automobile, looking in affright 
about her; yes, she had lost her way, that was evident. 
Should she turn back? While she was pondering over 
this, a chorus of howls fell with a distinctness unmistak¬ 
able upon her startled ear. Coyotes! Her face blanched, 
great beads of cold perspiration stood out on her fore¬ 
head ; the hands on the wheel trembled like aspen leaves. 
In all her petted young life she had never faced danger 
before now—. 

Nearer and nearer came the great dark flock of mov¬ 
ing creatures, by leaps and bounds, plainly discernible 
in the bright, white moonlight; their blood-curdling cries 
grew fiercer and louder as they advanced. For a mo¬ 
ment Pauline was so dazed with terror, her brain re¬ 
fused to think, then like a flash it occurred to her that 
her only chance of escape was to send the machine for¬ 
ward at top speed. Grasping the wheel with all the 
strength she possessed, it quickly shot forward like a 
bow from an arrow. The wild howls of rage were more 
ferocious than before; glancing back, she saw the large 
113 


114 


WOODEN WIVES 


pack were following closely, in hot pursuit. Through 
her brain flitted the realization that her only hope lay 
in dashing forward with lightning like speed gradually 
out-distancing them. 

She had counted without knowledge of the coyote’s 
wonderful power of endurance. Mile after mile flew the 
car, dashing through the white waste of snow. She had 
left the road far behind her and was whirling over the 
trackless plains,—over which the foot of man rarely 
traversed in the summer time,—never in winter. Pauline 
had long since lost all sense of direction; the only reali¬ 
zation which came to her, was to send the car forward— 
forward—. Only the night-sky, and the stars overhead 
saw that terrible race between that automobile and the 
yelping coyotes. 

She had gone around in a circle, miles in distance, 
with the car, most of the time, up to the hubs in the 
trackless, frozen snow. She was conscious of a long, 
dark streak ahead;—a road! a road! The car plunged 
into it, wabbling woefully under her unsteady clutch; 
then, suddenly, like a trembling, overworked steed, spent 
and broken, it stood still. 

A cry broke from Pauline’s ashen lips. She tried to 
utter a prayer. In that awful moment she forgot how 
to pray. In a trice, the terrors of the western plains 
were upon her, surrounding the car at which they 
leaped, and threw themselves bodily against it with 
deafening howls. She saw their fiery eyes, gleaming 
fangs, and lapping tongues as they sighted her through 
the glass, and sensed their prey. Her hands fell para¬ 
lyzed from the motionless wheel. 


MISTRUST 


115 


“God!—-save me!” she gasped. She knew the thin 
plate glass could not hold out long against the repeated 
blows of those heavy bodies that were being hurled 
against it; when the glass would fall, shivered into 
fragments—they would leap in. 

“ Father!” she moaned, then her half-crazed thoughts 
turned to the husband whom she knew would give his 
life for her, and her lips formed the words, “Daniel! 
Daniel!—Save me!” 

# # * # # 

All unconscious of the tragic events happening, Daniel 
Weslow had reached home from his journey almost an 
hour before. Owing to the lateness of the hour, he ex¬ 
pected to find the household asleep. To his surprise 
Mrs. Bemis met him at the door, fully dressed, and 
wearing a cloak and hood. He saw that her face was 
very pale. 

“Oh, Mr. Daniel!” she cried with a sob, “I am so 
glad you have come!” 

“What in the world has happened, mother Bemis, to 
upset you like this!” he ejaculated in the greatest 
amazement, taking her hands soothingly. 

“It’s about Pauline, your wife!” she gasped. She 
never knew in what words she explained to him that 
Pauline had gone to the ball with his friend Reardon, 
but had not returned, and it was then after two in the 
morning;—she had telephoned to the place where the 
ball had taken place, learning it had broken up hours 
before, and Mrs. Weslow and Mr. Reardon had been the 
first to take their leave;—and that she was just hurry¬ 
ing out to arouse the towns-people. 


116 


WOODEN WIVES 


Daniel Weslow started back with a cry “My God! My 
God! they must have met with an accident .’ 9 Like a 
flash he tore across the ground to the garage, Mrs. Bemis 
was at his heels. “That is what I feared,” she said. 
“Let me go with you, Mr. Daniel! See! I have—my— 
first—aid—kit—with me!” In less time than it takes 
to recount it, they were tearing up the road in the direc¬ 
tion Pauline had gone, faster by far than any express 
train had ever whirled over the rails. 

Not a word was spoken, but Mrs. Bemis knew, by his 
labored breathing, the agony of fear Daniel was endur¬ 
ing. As they, at last, turned a bend in the road, after 
traversing some fifteen miles or more,—they both, at 
the same instant, sighted the automobile standing mo¬ 
tionless in the road, surrounded by the coyotes. Mrs. 
Bemis gasped, her very soul quaking with the horror 
of the sight. Daniel uttered no word. Pauline, crouch¬ 
ing in the bottom of her car, praying for death, heard a 
fusillade of shots accompanied by yelps from the pack 
as the wounded took to their heels flying from the scene 
of danger. 

The door of the ear was wrenched open, and Daniel 
sprung through it. The next instant Pauline was in his 
strong arms, and he was raining kisses down upon her 
white face. 

“Pauline is here—alone;—she has swooned!” he 
called back to Mrs. Bemis. 

When she opened her eyes to consciousness, Pauline 
found herself in her own room, with Daniel sitting on 
one side of the bed, Mrs. Bemis on the other, each hold¬ 
ing her hand. 


MISTRUST 


117 


“Was it a horrible dream,—a night-mare !’ 9 she 
whispered cowering down among the pillows in abject 
terror. 

Daniel placed his fingers over her lips. “You are not 
going to talk about it now,” he said. “After a good 
long sleep, you shall tell us all about it,—not now, my 
dearie.” 

To their surprise, and gratification, Pauline closed 
her eyes, and fell fast asleep like a tired, obedient child. 
While she had been unconscious, Daniel had made dili¬ 
gent inquiries for Reardon, marveling much that he was 
not with Pauline,—and fearful that he had met an 
untimely fate—from the coyotes. His amazement was 
great, and his anger still greater to learn that he had 
left the car, and Pauline in it, to purchase cigars at a 
road-place,—“By some accident,” Reardon had ex¬ 
plained to his listener,—Mrs. Weslow must have touched 
the starter—it had gotten beyond her control, having 
whirled away in something like a mile a minute speed. 

They had searched as best they could, without a con¬ 
veyance, until day-break; and finding no trace of her, 
had concluded she must have reached home safely, and 
last but not least, that Reardon, fearing the Senator’s 
anger over the contretemps, had left the city by the 
early train, not disclosing where he was going; he let 
it be inferred that he might be away until after the sen¬ 
sation concerning the affair, had blown over. 

“Reardon is, after all—a cur,” muttered Daniel Wes¬ 
low angrily. “I shall never overlook, forget, or forgive 
him for his lack of watcheare.” 

When Pauline heard the story Reardon had circulated, 


118 


WOODEN WIVES 


concerning her adventure, she concluded it was wisest 
and best not to contradict it, so she held her peace. 

She was glad beyond words when Daniel informed her 
a few days later, that he had decided they should go 
to Washington at once—that she should not remain a 
day longer than was absolutely necessary in the west— 
where she had had such a harrowing experience that 
she refused to ever leave the house again. 

“To me, it will always be the beautiful golden west, 
—God’s country,” he added with wistfulness in his 
tone, “but, for all that, — your will, and happiness, is 
my law, dear Pauline.” 

Mrs. Bemis was not to accompany them. With many 
tears she had decided her duty lay in remaining in the 
beautiful west she so loved, and guarding Daniel’s inter¬ 
ests. “You will love this home better than any other” 
—she said. “It will always be ready for you to come 
back to.” 

Pauline’s joy at the prospect of going east, pained 
the good soul; she had done so much, everything in 
human power to make her happy out there in the won¬ 
derful west. If Pauline could have left Mr. Daniel 
behind, Mrs. Bemis would not have felt such a pain in 
her heart—he was her world. 

It had been decided that they should take her father 
by surprise remaining a week in New York. All during 
the trip east, Pauline kept wondering why Mrs. Moore, 
her father’s good old house-keeper, had not written her 
for nearly a month. She hoped there was nothing the 
matter. 

On reaching her old home, she found there was very 


MISTRUST 


119 


much the matter. Her father received Daniel and her¬ 
self with evident confusion. 

To her amazement, Pauline discovered that every one 
of the old family servitors had been discharged, and 
their places filled by strange faces. 

Even Mrs. Moore was gone, her father informed her 
that he had no idea of her whereabouts,—but understood 
she had left the city. 

Pauline's tears over this intelligence, plainly annoyed 
him. Another thing startled her;—her father’s wel¬ 
come was surely constrained or—was it only her fancy, 
—that his heart had grown cold to her? 

Daniel seemed quite as astonished as herself at the 
dismissal of the old stand-bys who had loved and served 
the old Senator so faithfully. 

* ‘ They wanted to run my business, and I would have 
none of that!” he declared testily. 

Daniel felt that there was something behind that, but 
made no comment. 

The house was filled with French maids, under a 
French house-keeper, who jabbered incessantly, in whis¬ 
pers in their native tongue. Their frowns and shrugging 
shoulders, as they glanced at the Senator’s daughter, 
told him quite as plainly as words could have done, 
Pauline y/us not welcome there. He hoped from the 
bottom of his heart that his young wife would not notice 
it. 

In every room they entered, Pauline saw new and 
beautiful pictures of Marcelle;—in the drawing room, a 
new and marvelous oil painting of her,—where her own 
mother’s portrait used to hang. 


120 


WOODEN WIVES 


Her father saw her astonishment, but, made no ex¬ 
cuses. Inwardly, he was lecturing himself thus:— 

“No man should permit his children to run him, or 
dictate to him in any way, as Marcelle says, “I hate 
mightily to cross Pauline, who has always had her own 
way with me,—but,—if it has to be done,—the sooner 
it is over with, the better. 

“You have made some changes/’ his daughter re¬ 
marked, wiping the tears from her eyes, as she looked 
about the room for the picture which was not—there. 

“Yes,” he retorted promptly, “and I will brook no 
interference from any one on earth, concerning what 
I do.” 

Pauline’s eyes dilated with suppressed emotion. Her 
father had never spoken to her so sharply, so pointedly 
before; she could not help but retort with equal spirit: 
—“If you have no further use for my mother’s por¬ 
trait,—will you give it to—me?—I will treasure it so 
dearly.” 

Senator Rae flushed scarlet under this tacit rebuke. 
“When you are settled, in Washington, I will send it 
to you,” he replied tersely. 

Pauline had expected a prompt refusal,—for, in the 
other days he had loved her mother’s picture more than 
all his earthly possessions; she was amazed beyond all 
words that he was willing to part with it so readily, 
being the only picture they had of her. Everything in 
and about the house was changed—as well. Pauline 
was mystified to find many pictures of Daniel, in almost 
every room,—but not one of—herself. She could not 
understand the strange change which had taken place. 


MISTRUST 121 

Casually she inquired after Marcelle, remarking she had 
not heard from her very recently. 

Pauline did not notice what Daniel did,—that the old 
Senator’s wrinkled face flushed a dull red, as he 
answered in a somewhat constrained voice:— 

“She is stopping with a French family next door 
now; you must go in and see her, Pauline, she will ex¬ 
pect that.” 

“Marcelle will come to me, father,” corrected Pauline. 

The Senator made no response, but his daughter could 
see he was considerably disturbed. Daniel had been 
so absorbed in scrutinizing the painting of Marcelle, 
that he had not heard the conversation. The more he 
looked at the dark, wonderful eyes that seemed to be 
looking down into his own,—the more he became con¬ 
vinced that all the pretty French maidens he had en¬ 
countered everywhere in Paris, certainly looked alike; 
thus he dismissed the subject; as he turned to Pauline, 
he was amazed to hear her saying:— 

“We shall not stay in New York a week, father; I 
have concluded to go on to Washington. Her father 
did not press her very ardently to remain. A few 
moments later she bade him “Good-night.” 

Her own boudoir had been assigned her, and the 
suite of rooms opposite, to Daniel. When Pauline found 
herself alone, she gave vent to the bitter disappointment 
attending her home coming in passionate tears. 

She had looked forward to the first hour she should 
be alone with her father; she had planned to throw her¬ 
self in his arms, sobbing out on his loving breast—how 
desolate her life had become; not that Daniel Weslow 


122 


WOODEN WIVES 


had not done everything in his power to make her con¬ 
tented,—nay,— happy, she could not give him, in return, 
anything save friendship; she meant to confess to her 
father that she felt quite sure, that friendship—could 
never deepen into—love, such as he had a right to 
expect. 

Now,—Pauline realized her confession would fall upon 
cold ears;—he would have no sympathy for her. To 
make it all the harder for her, she could see her father 
fairly doted upon Daniel. She thought of the one sen¬ 
tence his letters had always contained:—“He is cer¬ 
tainly the finest type of man the sun ever shone on, a 
he-man—a man’s man.” 

Daniel was greatly relieved at Pauline’s decision to 
go on to Washington without delay; they would he 
scarcely settled ere he would be obliged to take up his 
new duties. 

“I would be so glad to have you close up this house, 
and come to Washington to live with us,” said Pauline 
wistfully, as she kissed her father good-bye. He shook 
his head resolutely. 

“I’ll look in upon you for a visit of a day or two now 
and then; I do not believe in giving up the comforts of 
one’s own home to live with a married child;—I shall 
stretch my legs out under my own table to the last.” 
He wondered why she clung to him even after she had 
said good-bye. * 


CHAPTER XII 


WHAT WILL A MAN NOT DO, FOR THE DARLING OF HIS HEART 

“ There is a grief that wastes the heart, 

Like mildew on a tulip’s dyes 
When hope deferred, but to depart 

Loses its smiles, but keeps its sighs.” 

Oh, beautiful city of Washington! Wonderful, mys¬ 
terious Capitol, with its brilliant men, beautiful 
women, lights, flowers, music and feasting! Where 
gayety creeps forth with the setting sun, and riots 
through the long hours until the flickering light of 
the stars dim, proclaiming the night is done—a new 
day dawned. 

Although a Senator’s daughter, Pauline, a school 
miss, living in New York, had seen nothing of Wash¬ 
ington society; she looked forward to mingling in its 
gayeties, and, as a new Senator’s wife, of attending 
the inauguration ball. 

Daniel Weslow looked forward to it with dread. He 
found himself wishing that he had not been elected 
Senator, being obliged to shoulder the many obliga¬ 
tions that went with it. He felt he was in the wrong 
atmosphere. 

Out in God’s country, in the open fields, or among 
his town-folks, he felt at home; but in drawing-rooms 
of the Kings of wealth, brushing elbows with titled 
nobility, in addition to the President, in the White 
House, and men of highest rank,—he felt ill at ease. 

123 


124 


WOODEN WIVES 


He saw that Pauline was in her element, and with 
that realization, the knowledge was soon forced upon 
him—she—was—ashamed of him. 

At a dinner given at the palatial home of a brother 
Senator, he forgot instructions, and raised his knife to 
his mouth; the look of consternation; and tide of 
crimson that dyed her face warned him of Pauline’s 
embarrassment over this contretemps. In attempting 
to raise a fork-full of dancing peas to his mouth, and 
the mishap that resulted from it, was another unmis¬ 
takable warning to him that he was out of place, Sen¬ 
ator though he was,—in Washington society. 

As Pauline watched him, so different from the other 
gentlemen about him—the words of both Hughey 
Boyd and Reardon occurred to her, “ Mated to a 
clown.” Amidst her shame over his uncouthness, she 
felt a degree of pity for him—he was trying so hard 
to remake his life, make of himself what she wished 
him to be. Every man with whom he came in con¬ 
tact, recognized his sterling qualities, and took to him 
accordingly. The hearts of the proudest of the so¬ 
ciety women warmed to him. Very quickly he gained 
the sobriquet of:—The Rough Diamond of the Senate. 
A second Abe Lincoln. 

The great inaugural ball, which he was obliged to 
attend, escorting Pauline, fixed the status of Daniel 
Weslow’s popularity in Washington. 

As he beheld Pauline that night, he remembered her 
in all the long years of pain that followed. She was 
fairly radiant in a sheath-like gown of shimmering 
silver, tulle, and pearls. Her golden hair was bound 


FOR THE DARLING OF HIS HEART 125 

by a fillet of pearls, pearls encircling her dainty white 
throat. 

“I can hardly believe that so superb a creature— 
belongs—to me!” he whispered, as they entered the 
spacious reception room. 

Pauline laughed heartily; she knew that he meant, 
from the bottom of his heart, every word of the im¬ 
plied compliment,—and that careless merry laugh was 
the last one that crossed her lips for many a long and 
weary year. Ah! how little do we realize what a few 
hours may bring forth to change the course of human 
lives. 

Amidst the vast throng of beautiful women, 
Pauline’s rare beauty shone the fairest. Her dancing, 
the poetry of grace and motion. Daniel, a wall¬ 
flower in a far-off corner, watched her with his heart 
in his eyes. Amidst all that concourse of the world’s 
beauties, he saw only—Pauline. 

He sorrowed to the heart’s core to see other men’s 
arms about her in the dance, and ere the ball was 
scarcely under way, he was wishing heartily that the 
evening was over, and he could bear Pauline away 
from the throng of admirers—home—to her home— 
and—his. 

During the course of the evening, even amidst the 
vast throng, the gracious First Lady of America had 
singled out the lonely, patient man, and sent for him 
to be brought to her. 

Daniel hesitated, abashed, but was finally coaxed in¬ 
to being escorted to her. She held out her hand, wel¬ 
coming him so kindly and graciously that somehow, 


126 


WOODEN WIVES 


he felt at his ease with her at once. Despite the de¬ 
mands upon her, she took time to converse with him 
a few moments. She knew a family who lived in 
Oklahoma City,—close friends of his. That settled it. 
He no longer felt like a forlorn stranger; he had found 
in the President’s gracious wife,—a mutual—friend. 

He was in excellent spirits as their automobile 
whirled them homeward. 

“I had a present for you, my dear,—something I 
aimed you should wear at that ball,—but,—I forgot 
all about it until I saw something like it on a girl. 
You shall have it as soon as we reach home. It is in 
my old over-coat pocket. Poor old Mrs. Bemis packed 
that coat, thinking I might need it; she did not know 
what fine toggery these Washingtonians wear,—bless 
her dear heart.” 

Owing to the lateness of the hour, when they ar¬ 
rived home, Pauline waited until the morning to dis¬ 
cover what Daniel’s present to her could be. 

That it was something of small value, she con¬ 
cluded, otherwise he would not have thrust it into his 
over-coat pocket, forgetting all about it until now. 

Up in the store-room she found the contents of the 
trunks were in neat piles upon tables and shelves, 
awaiting her orders as to their disposition. 

She found the over-coat he had been wont to wear 
“out home” without difficulty, the thought passing 
through her mind that Mrs. Bemis must have been in 
the greatest kind of a hurry when she packed it, that 
she had not taken time to clear the pockets of their 
contents. In this surmise she was quite correct. 


FOE THE DARLING OF HIS HEART 127 

half a dozen pockets were looked through ere 
Pauline found one with something else in it, evidently, 
besides handkerchiefs and pieces of string. 

The pocket yielded two packages, one small, the 
other a trifle larger. As there was nothing about either 
to indicate which one was for her, she proceeded to 
open both. The smaller package contained a wrist 
watch. With a smile on her lips she turned carelessly 
to the other package, opening it. One glance, and the 
blood in her veins stood still; the heart in her bosom 
seemed to break with one awful throb; the sunlight 
that streamed in through the window to suddenly 
darken, and the world to stand still. 

She struggled to the window and threw open the 
sash; she wondered that she did not fall dead then 
and there. 

The opened package on which her horrified eyes 

gazed, contained-the pin which had been torn from 

her father on the train during that sensational hold¬ 
up, and, twisted about it was a torn bit of the never- 
to-be-forgotten necktie that had caught and held her 
gaze on that occasion. As she held it in her shaking 
hand, a horrible query forced itself on her brain—who 
— was —the masked bandit! Had—she—married him? 
She reached her own apartment without encountering 
any of the servants; once there, she fell in a deep 
swoon among the blue hare-bells that adorned the vel¬ 
vet carpet. 

She was just recovering as Daniel entered the room; 
he had returned for some important papers which he 
had forgotten. He sprang toward her with a cry of 


128 


WOODEN WIVES 


alarm, exclaiming agonizedly, “Pauline, my darling 
wife, are you ill?” 

As he uttered the words, he bent forward to raise 
her to her feet. 

“Stop! do not touch me!” she screamed, cowering 
from him as she struggled to her feet. “If you laid 
your hand on me—it would kill me. 1 know you now 
.—/or what you are! —and—I abhor you. You deserve 
no pity at my hands, only scorn and the deepest— 
hatred. I will try and think out which way duty lies, 
—to send for my father and tell him all,—or—against 
right, and justice—hide my discovery—from the world 
—suffering in—silence!” 

Daniel Weslow’s arms dropped to his side; he was 
too utterly astonished for words; he gazed at her with 
dilated eyes, wondering if his young wife had sudden¬ 
ly lost her reason; surely that must be it. Tears 
sprang to his eyes; he held out his arms to her in an 
agony of emotion, saying huskily:— 

“My darling, my love, let your husband comfort 
you; come to my arms, dear, and tell me what is the 
matter, what has so excited you—that you are in this 
state, sweetheart?” 

The bitterest, most scornful laugh that was ever 
heard, fell from Pauline’s lips. She drew herself up 
to her fullest height, gazing at him with blazing eyes, 
her voice choking with scorn as she answered:— 

“Never presume to address me in those terms again! 
Henceforth we are strangers. If you would give me 
peace, rid me of your despised—presence.” With these 
words she turned swiftly and entered an inner room, 


FOR THE DARLING OP HIS HEART 129 

closing the door after her. He heard the key turn in 
the lock. 

Too thoroughly amazed for words, or action, Daniel 
stood staring at the door through which she had van¬ 
ished,—stood like one turned to stone—for some min¬ 
utes too dumbfounded to even think clearly. 

At that moment the telephone rang; he answered it 
mechanically; he was wanted at the Senate; would he 
make haste to reach there with the papers he was to 
fetch. 

With almost superhuman effort Daniel Weslow ral¬ 
lied from his agitation, thrust the papers in his pocket, 
and, after summoning the housekeeper to tell her his 
“wife was not feeling well, and bidding her look after 
her faithfully, ’’ he left the house. 

By the greatest of will-power, and nerves of steel, 
he got through the day but worry over Pauline 
seamed his face with many a new wrinkle. 

For long hours Pauline had deliberated over the 
course she must pursue. She dared not tell her hot¬ 
headed old father of the terrible discovery she had 
made; she knew he held honor and honesty higher 
than anything else. He would not shelter from the 
world’s scorn, a man whom he found to be living a 
double life, thief—and—high official. He would not 
brook it. If her father knew, it would mean a dread¬ 
ful expose without an hour’s delay, let the conse¬ 
quence be what it might, to Weslow. 

There was a reason—why—she hesitated. * 

“I must think it out—by myself;—think what is 
best to be done;—in the meantime, “though under the 


130 


WOODEN WIVES 


same roof, no strangers will be further apart than 
we,” she ruminated, pacing excitedly up and down 
the room. 

The line of conduct Pauline adopted caused Daniel 
the utmost dismay. She refused to be questioned con¬ 
cerning it. All he realized was, that without the 
slightest reason, her heart had changed toward him. 
He was, too, well aware that she had been indifferent 
to him when she had uttered the words which had 
made her his wife;—but by unending patience, and 
devoted love, he had been blind enough to believe he 
had at last won his way to her affections. This hope 
was now shattered. 

Before guests, or strangers, Pauline was all that was 
bright, joyous, and a happy wife; the instant they 
were alone together, which never occurred if she could 
prevent it, she immediately froze into a veritable hu¬ 
man icicle—ignoring his presence completely. 

To Daniel, this sort of a life was intolerable, he de¬ 
termined it must cease at any cost, yet each day he 
idolized her more and more. 

He threw himself heart and soul into his work. The 
Senator who came out of the west, was becoming a 
power. His opponents in senatorial battles soon dis¬ 
covered he was a foeman worthy of their steel. They 
told each other he was another Abraham Lincoln. 
His speeches got into print far and wide. He took up 
the rights of the common-people, and labored hard for 
them;—many a great corporation feared Senator Wes- 
low—the—unapproachable. He was the friend of the 
poor and down-trodden. 


FOR THE DARLING OF HIS HEART 


131 


Pauline read, and heard his praise, but her attitude 
toward him did not change. One thought was con- 
stantly in her mind:— 

“Alas, that man can smile,—and,—smiling, be a— 
villain. ’’ 

Honors, aye, glory had come to Daniel Weslow,— 
yet, through it all, he was one of the most wretched, 
sorrowful, and in addition, the loneliest of men.—He 
had missed the one great thing that makes life worth 
living— Love. 

The one woman on earth whose affection he craved, 
—would have given every drop of blood in his heart, 
to win,—spurned him aye, loathed him. 

At this stage of affairs, Daniel learned, through hear¬ 
ing Pauline giving orders to the house-keeper, that 
Miss Marcelle Yalleau was coming to pay her a visit 
of some weeks duration, and that the apartments op¬ 
posite her own was to be made ready for her. 

A ray of comfort came to him as he listened. Per¬ 
haps the clever French girl would soon notice how 
matters stood between Pauline and himself, and be 
the good angel of both, by patching up their dif¬ 
ferences. He hoped and prayed so. 

Noon brought Marcelle, more beautiful than ever. 
Pauline marveled at the change in her, observing she 
was a veritable fashion-plate. She greeted Pauline 
effusively, in turn, Pauline flung her arms about her, 
saying wistfully:—“I am so glad you are come,—I 
am so lonesome.” 

Lonesome! a bride, and lonesome! Marcelle caught 
at the words as a drowning person catches at a straw. 


132 


WOODEN WIVES 


She took both of Pauline’s hands in hers, gazing at 
her—fixedly. 

“Dearie,—you have been crying!” she whispered, 
“you—are—unhappy!—is it not so?” There is noth¬ 
ing so yearned for, as some one to whom one can un¬ 
burden one’s self,—and be sure of sympathy. 

The clever shaft struck home,—went directly to 
Pauline’s sore heart; she burst into tears, hiding her 
head on Marcelle’s shoulder. 

“You are nursing a secret sorrow,” murmured Mar- 
celle, drawing her to an adjacent sofa, and seating 
herself beside her, her arms still twined about Pauline. 
“Confide in me, dearie,—you are not happy with 
Daniel Weslow,—just as I feared.” 

Pauline looked up through blinding tears into Mar¬ 
celle’s face. 

“You are right,” she whispered chokingly, “Daniel 
and I are wretchedly at odds with each other;—we— 
do not speak—except—before strangers—I—I—cannot 
tell you—why.” 

Marcelle’s lips curled in a sneer behind her lace 
handkerchief; she knew she could worm the secret of 
their difference out of Pauline in a short time,—she 
was content for the present to learn they were on the 
verge of a violent quarrel. Marcelle decided it should 
take place without waste of time. She looked long 
and steadily at a portrait of Daniel over the mantel, 
a strange smile playing about her lips. It was well 
for Pauline that she could not follow the trend of 
Marcelle Valleau’s thoughts. Suddenly she asked:— 
“Will Dan—Mr. Weslow join us at dinner, tonight?” 
Pauline nodded in the affirmative. 


CHAPTER XIII 


WHEN A WOMAN FRIEND—PROVES FALSE 

“What is home with none to meet— 

None to welcome, none to greet us? 

Home is sweet—and only sweet 

Where there’s one we love to meet us. ? ’ 

As MarceUe was to be their only dinner guest, Pauline 
did not take especial pains with her toilette, donning the 
first gown at hand;—a violet chiffon, without stopping 
to consider she had others which were still more becom¬ 
ing to her blonde lovliness. 

Not so Marcelle; she selected her dinner gown with 
as much care as though she expected to meet some one 
who would be quite unable to resist her superb beauty. 
Her choice was a black lace that draped her perfect 
figure, and set off the creamy tint of her beautiful face, 
long, graceful neck, and exquisitely proportioned arms 
as nothing else could have done. 

Her blue-black hair was pinned close to her shapely 
head. Her hands like lily leaves, with their pink palms, 
were not marred by even the smallest of jewels;—her 
only ornament being a splendid, glowing, American 
beauty rose which she wore at her belt. 

Pauline looked at her in wonder, as she joined her 
in her boudoir. 

* ‘ You look—superb Marcelle, ’ ’ she exclaimed. ‘ ‘ What 
a pity it is we will have no one at dinner to admire you; 

133 


134 


WOODEN WIVES 


your wonderful beauty ought not to be wasted on Daniel 
—and me. I must invite eligible gentlemen to meet 
you;—I must indeed; such charm shall not be wasted 
on desert air.” 

“Oh no, please do not invite any one else;—a party 
of three is so cozy,—quite delightful;—I am sure to 
enjoy it so much more.” 

Pauline looked at her in unfeigned astonishment, 
thinking, a girl of such rare beauty as was Mareelle’s, 
was surely created to be admired. 

Daniel was quite as much surprised as Papline had 
been when his careless gaze fell upon Mareelle, in greet¬ 
ing. 

Of late, dining alone together, when it was unavoid¬ 
able, had become as irksome to him as it was to Pauline; 
on these occasions, utter, unbroken silence prevailed, 
both feeling relieved when the trial was over. 

How amazingly different it was with Mareelle present. 
She was all life, wit, sparkle, merriment. She brought 
the first laugh to Daniel’s lips that he had known since 
the day following the inaugural ball. 

Very adroitly Pauline was drawn into the liveliness 
prevailing, until as Daniel thought, she was once more 
like her old self, the Pauline he had wedded and adored. 
He thanked Heaven Mareelle had come; she might be 
able to establish peace between his young wife and him¬ 
self. He caught at the hope as a drowning man catches 
at a straw. Pauline never breakfasted with him, taking 
her chocolate in her boudoir. To his surprise Daniel 
found Mareelle at the breakfast table, looking marvel¬ 
ously beautiful in a simple mauve breakfast frock, and 


WHEN A WOMAN FRIEND—PROVES FALSE 135 

more vivacious, if that were possible, than she had been 
the night before. The fortnight which followed, passed 
very quickly, and enjoyably to Marcelle. She noted 
she had awakened the interest, nay, the admiration of 
Daniel Weslow; she was satisfied with that beginning. 
Marcelle enthused over both the opera and the theatre. 
Pauline refused to go with him when Daniel suggested 
engaging a box for these occasions, but suggested he take 
Marcelle; he could not well refuse, with Marcelle’s 
eager dark eyes looking delightedly up at him. 

Pauline’s request was law to him, Daniel smothered 
the sigh that rose to his lips, and agreed to take her 
friend at her bidding. 

The most beautiful women in the world are to be 
found in Washington at the beginning of the season; 
Daniel was indeed much surprised to observe that the 
beautiful French girl whom he accompanied, outshone 
them all. 

It amused Daniel, somewhat, to note that the glances 
of most of the men in that vast, brilliant assemblage, re¬ 
turned again and again, at length becoming firmly fixed 
upon Miss Valleau, his beautiful companion. He felt 
sure many of them would be coming to him later, hoping 
for an introduction. On the following day, this proved 
to be the case. He spoke to Marcelle, concerning her 
pleasure in the matter, and was much astonished when 
she declined to meet the gentlemen, any one of which 
would have been a most desirable party, measured by 
Washington requirements. 

“No! no! no! Not on this occasion, please Mr. Wes- 
low,—perhaps some other time,” she murmured pret- 


136 


WOODEN WIVES 


tily. “lam here to visit just Pauline and yourself on 
this occasion; we will have just a little homey visit to¬ 
gether, the three of us,"—that will make me happier than 
anything else.” 

Pauline refused to go to the senate, even when Daniel 
had a most important hill at issue. Looking about the 
vast throng, Daniel was sure to see Marcelle’s face, and 
note her encouraging smile. 

Washington has known many a scandal, but none 
more relished than the story which was at first hinted 
at, than referred to more openly, than the remark that 
the ‘‘honest’’ senator from the far west was at odds 
with his beautiful young wife,—and all because of a 
stunning brunette—a French girl, who was seen accom¬ 
panying him everywhere. Society shrugged its shoul¬ 
ders, complaisantly awaiting the climax. 

Daniel Weslow had not the slightest idea of the sen¬ 
sation he was creating by obeying Pauline’s behest to 
escort her guest hither and thither. Heretofore, Mar- 
celle had never failed to charm every man who came 
within the radius of her charms, she felt piqued, angered 
that this man, whom the baby-faced Pauline had won, 
seemed so impregnable to her fascinations. 

The servants of the household soon noticed how very 
interested the beautiful French girl was in Senator 
Weslow, and talked it over among themselves, wish¬ 
ing they dared give their young mistress an inkling 
of the treacherous friend in whom she reposed such 
confidence. 

One day, returning from a walk through the park, 
Marcelle seemed very much excited. “When we are 


WHEN A WOMAN FRIEND—PROVES FALSE 137 

alone, I will tell yon whom I ran across, ’ ’ she whispered 
in Pauline’s ear. Shortly after, the two were closeted 
together in Pauline’s boudoir. 

“Prepare for a surprise, but do not be upset, dear,” 
murmured Marcelle, drawing Pauline to a sofa, and 
putting her arms about her, “It was—Mr.—Hugh— 
Boyd.” 

A gasp fell from Pauline’s lips, a swift pallor spread 
over her cheeks, and Marcelle could feel the slight form 
tremble in her clasp. 

“I—did—not—know—you had ever—met him,” fal¬ 
tered Pauline. 

“I did not mention before for it was useless,—that I 
met him the day you married Mr. Weslow. You remem¬ 
ber I was waiting in the drawing room for you to return 
with some French books you had gone to you father’s 
office for,—and, it seems, Mr. Boyd had an appointment 
to meet you. When you did not appear, and after 
waiting a long time,—he came to the house to inquire 
for you. In the semi-twilight, he mistook me for 
you, and in the broken love words he uttered, I dis¬ 
covered his secret, and yours,—your love for each 
other, and why he was there,—to beg you to elope 
with him. 

When you returned to the house, the bride of another, 
I determined to keep Mr. Boyd’s coming to your home, 
and the object of it, a secret even from—you. There 
was little use in opening—an old wound.” 

“I was to meet Hughey,—but—we never spoke of— 
eloping,” sobbed the wretched Pauline, hiding her face 
on Marcelle’s shoulder. 


138 


WOODEN WIVES 


“He told me lie was to suggest it when you met,” 
answered Marcelle. “But,—that is past and gone;— 
now for the present. I would never have known him 
if he had not stopped, called my name, telling me whom 
he was. Oh such a marvelous change as I beheld in him. 
He was so bright and so bonny then, now,—years of 
the bitterest sorrow passing over him could not have 
changed him more. The loss of you has broken the 
man’s heart, dear.” 

“Do not say that!” exclaimed Pauline distressedly, 
“I cannot bear it.” 

“I am only telling you, warning you what you might 
expect to see, if you chanced to come face to face with 
the poor fellow,” murmured Marcelle. 

“It is not probable that we shall ever meet again,” 
responded Pauline huskily. “I have put him out of my 
thoughts, out of my life. ’ ’ 

“And yet you two loved each other so fondly once,” 
mused Marcelle. “We must not talk of him, I am striv¬ 
ing even yet—to forget,” faltered Pauline in a voice 
freighted with sobs. 

“Never again after this once,” agreed Marcelle, 
“But I feel quite in duty bound to tell you all that 
transpired. When he saw me, he jumped to the conclu¬ 
sion that I was here on a visit to you. I replied I was. 

“ ‘Tell me/ he cried, catching my hand, ‘Is Pauline 
—happy? I have—haunted the street where she lives 
just to catch one glimpse of that face dearer to me even 
yet, than the living, beating heart in my bosom. Oh, 
tell me—be kind to me, Miss Valleau, answer me truth¬ 
fully,—has the man who stole my treasure from me,— 


WHEN A WOMAN FRIEND—PROVES FALSE 139 

made my darling—happy ? Has she so far forgotten me 
as to be happy with another? Oh God! the thougth of 
it has almost unseated my reason. Love for her has 
consumed me; I cannot live without her, I want to look 
on her face just one little moment,—then it does not 
matter what happens to me after that.’ ” 

Pauline was sobbing bitterly; after a few moments 
she raised her face to Marcelle’s whispering faintly:— 
“He seemed to give me up—easily enough,—making no 
attempt to see me nor write. . . ” 

Marcelle interrupted her quickly. “He said that he 
did write, entrusting his letters to a friend to be de¬ 
livered to you—providing you would receive them,— 
but that they were always returned to him—unopened. 
When he heard you had come east, he said he made up 
his mind to see you,—hear your voice, touch your hand 
if but for a moment,—then go out of your life—forever. 
Oh, Pauline dear! I have never beheld such a mighty, 
unconquerable love! He was a man utterly crushed, 
down and out. Love for you—has killed him.” 

Pauline was sobbing afresh. “I am sorry you told 
me, Marcelle, you must help me to—forget him. ,, 

“He bade me give you this message, dear, he begged 
me to plead with you to see him just one little moment 
dear, then—he will go away.” 

“No! no! no! I cannot see him,” cried Pauline dis- 
tressedly, “I must not! It is best for both of us that 
the whole wide world should lie between us.” 

“Confide in me, dear,” murmured Marcelle. “Is he 
not your first—and—only love? Girls like you, noble 
and wonderful, love once, never again!” 


140 


WOODEN WIVES 


“I am so wretched I cannot talk of it,” sobbed 
Pauline. 

4 ‘But you will consent to see him—just once,—I 
promised to let him know—I could not break away from 
him until I had given him the solemn promise that I 
would phone him as to your decision.” 

“Oh, Mareelle, I must not meet him ever again, re¬ 
member, I am the wife of another,—a wife, now, Mar- 
celle. It would not be right. I had—no heart to give 
the man—I married, but he has a claim upon my honor, 
—and the duty I owe him. Daniel would not consent 
to it.” 

Mareelle laughed aloud. “Surely you were not for a 
moment, contemplating telling Daniel Weslow anything 
about it, I hope!” 

“It would be proper to acquaint my husband of 
Hughey’s,—I—I mean Mr. Boyd’s request, would it 
not?” queried Pauline anxiously. 

“Certainly not,” responded the French girl prompt¬ 
ly. “You have broken Hugh Boyd’s heart, ruined his 
life by your desertion of him, for a man who has wealth, 
—if he craves just one kind word from you, it seems— 
inhuman to me, that you would not speak that one 
word. ’ ’ 

“I want to do whatever is just—right—and best!” 
sobbed Pauline wringing her hands and sobbing bitterly 
on Mareelle’s shoulder. “ You are older and wiser than 
I, and my true friend, advise me what to do Mareelle. ’ ’ 

“If you take my advice you will see poor Hugh,” 
replied Mareelle. “Of course no one must know. I 
can arrange it for you so that no one will be the wiser. 


WHEN A WOMAN FRIEND—PROVES FALSE 141 


You will always feel happier for giving the man who 
has loved you so hopelessly, one crumb of comfort, to 
lighten the burden of his despair—which must gnaw 
away at his heart—while his life lasts.” 

“Oh, Marcelle, how can I invite him here—to Daniel’s 
home!” cried Pauline despairingly, “I—I—could not.” 

“Well, hardly!” commented Marcelle, “I have just 
thought of another plan to suggest to you—which seems 
entirely feasible:— 

“ He is now devoting his life to charitable purposes,— 
procuring little strips of land here and there, to be 
^deeded over to the children of the poor; I heard you 
speaking of some land you owned out in Oklahoma, and 
thought you might be glad to donate it for the poor sick 
babies,—To put this in Mr. Boyd’s hands to accomplish, 
would be mighty good of you.” 

“I would be glad to do that, Marcelle,” Pauline re¬ 
sponded quickly, drying her eyes, “would I have to go 
to a lawyer’s office, meeting him there? I—I—would 
prefer not to meet him—alone. ’ ’ 

“A lawyer’s office! why, that would never do,” de¬ 
clared Marcelle promptly. “Here’s a better way, just 
hear me through before you comment, or object.—It’s a 
little romantic, to be sure, but barring that, it’s quite all 

right.—There’s to be a French masked ball given at- 

street. A very high-toned affair I am assured, as all the 
highest French officials will be present. You could go, 
masked; Mr. Boyd would be there, sign the deed he 
would bring with him,—the notary he would bring with 
him to attest to your signature. In those few moments 
he would have seen you, heard your voice, touched your 


142 


WOODEN WIVES 


hand—and then he would be satisfied to go away. In 
fact, this is the line of proceedure he himself proposed, 
—and I told him I was almost sure this would meet with 
your approval. Tickets were sent me some days ago. 
You will have time to consider it. Remember, you 
would be doing a gracious act in giving that strip of 
land which is useless, for so worthy a cause. The rich 
can have acres of ground around their homes—but the 
poor have not a spot to which they can go to get a 
breath of the pure sweet air of Heaven. I am sure Mr. 
Weslow will be in hearty accord with this, even though 
he did not know of it at the time.” 

“My—husband—would be glad for me to do as you 
are suggesting; when he gave me that land he spoke of 
that very thing,” declared Pauline. 

“Then, may I tell Mr. Boyd—you will meet him 
there,—if only for a brief moment or so?” Mareelle 
queried. 

“Yes, I will go,” answered Pauline, wiping her 
eyes. 

“That’s fine!” exclaimed Mareelle exuberantly. 

A few moments later Mareelle was on her way to the 
nearest public phone to call up Boyd. She would not 
trust the phone in her room for fear some one in the 
house might be listening in. What she had to say to 
Boyd was important. 

In a cheap hostelry in the worst, and most obscure 
part of Washington, Hugh Boyd, was pacing up and 
down awaiting Mareelle’s message with the greatest of 
impatience. Reardon, who had come on to Washington, 
sat by the window smoking. 


WHEN A WOMAN FRIEND—PROVES FALSE 143 

The phone bell rang; Boyd was at the instrument 
with a bound, jerking down the receiver. 

“It’s all right,” came Marcelle’s voice cautiously. 
“I’ll see that a certain party will be at the French Hall 
at ten o’clock on the evening of the 22nd. Get your 
papers ready; SHE WILL SIGN.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


IF THE HEART HARBORS DOUBTS AND FEARS 

(t Where ye are liberal with your loves and counsels, 

Be sure you are not loose; for those ye make friends 
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive 
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
Like water from ye, never found again, 

But where they mean to sink ye.” 

During the fortnight Marcelle had been an inmate of 
Daniel Weslow's home she had left no stone unturned 
to make her presence there a cause of joy to him. They 
had long and earnest chats over the breakfast coffee, 
and her’s was the only welcoming smile he received 
when he put in an appearance at dinner. He was be¬ 
coming used to Pauline's averted face, and coldness of 
manner, though he did hope their guest would not 
notice it. 

Immediately after dinner, it was the custom of 
Pauline and Marcelle to repair to the library. If he 
put in an appearance, Pauline soon found an excuse 
to leave the room. Not so, Marcelle; she was sure to 
remain; always doing her best to make the evening 
pass pleasantly for him, which won for her his sincere 
gratitude. 

He had been drawn into joining several clubs, but he 
never went near any one of them? To Daniel Weslow, 

144 


IF THE HEART HARBORS DOUBTS AND FEARS 145 

there was no place like home, even though there was 
a note of discord in it. On one of these occasions, he 
looked up from his paper to observe Marcelle looking 
at him fixedly. 

She blushed confusedly. “May I speak to you a 
moment, senator?” she asked. 

“Certainly, Miss Valleau,” he answered promptly. 

—I—was just wondering if my visit was not ill- 
timed sir!” she murmured, looking at him appealingly. 
“Would it not be best for me to take my departure?” 
Daniel laid down his paper, shaking his head. 

“Your presence here is more a comfort to me than 
you imagine,” he returned; that was all he dared to 
trust himself to say. The deep sigh that broke from 
his lips brought Marcelle to his side. 

“Oh, if I could but help you, if you are in grief, 
sir,” she murmured. 

Glancing up, he saw tears in her dark eyes. In that 
moment it seemed to him that he must have some one 
to confide in, or the heart in his bosom would burst. 
Perhaps she could help him. She was a woman, and 
Pauline’s friend—she liked her well, she would have 
influence with her. 

“I would be so glad of your—advice, Miss Valleau, 
I am in grief—I think you could help me.” He 
motioned her to a seat opposite him. 

For some moments he was silent; then, in a shaking 
voice, he said:— 

“During the time you have been here with us, I 
think you must have noticed that there is an—es¬ 
trangement between Mrs. Weslow and myself.” He 


146 


WOODEN WIVES 


looked at Her wistfully. Marcelle nodded. “There 
never was a case like this in all the whole wide world. 
I assume you know the story from Pauline of our 
unusual—courtship,—and—our marriage/ ’ he went on 
with evident embarrassment. Marcelle bowed her head 
in assent. ‘ ‘Then there is no need for me to go over 
that,—except to add,—I thought at the time I wedded 
my wife, that I—rough and uncouth though I was,— 
had won her love;—I soon found out that she was so 
utterly dissatisfied with me, her feelings generated 
into actual dislike,—and from that stage into intense 
—hatred; yes,—hatred, Miss Yalleau. I have done 
everything in God’s world that a man could do to 
make her happy, but have failed—utterly, as you see. 
I am fearful as to how it is to end. I love my wife 
so much that I would lay down my life for her. I 
cannot fathom what I have—or have not done,—which 
has caused her to become so bitter toward me. You 
would render me a favor, make me your debtor while 
I live, if you could only find out from her just what 
her grievance toward me is,—that I might do every¬ 
thing in my power to rectify it. You are a young 
lady of intelligence, and sound judgment;—will you 
tell me what you think is the reason for my wife’s 
aversion to me?—I—cannot stand this sort of a thing 
much longer; it is eating like a canker into my heart.” 

“You say, you discovered, after marriage, that your 
wife had no love for you,” pursued Marcelle thought¬ 
fully. 

“That is the case,” he admitted regretfully. “Mat¬ 
ters are going from bad to worse; I am terrified by the 


IF THE HEART HARBORS DOUBTS AND FEARS 147 

constant thought she is thinking of leaving me. Our 
estrangement will soon become public gossip.” 

“You can think of no reason whatever for having 
brought this state of affairs between you,—about?” 
she queried. 

“None whatever,” he repeated earnestly. 

“No wife ever turned against her husband—without a 
cause,” declared Marcelle, inquiring in the next 
breath:—“Did Pauline ever have a love affair, young 
though she was,—before she met you?” 

She saw Daniel Weslow give a great start, clutch 
the arms of his chair in a tight grip. It was fully a 
moment ere he answered—“Yes”—adding quickly:— 
“It was only a girlish fancy on her part; she was 
thrown in contact with a scoundrel,—a black-guard. 
His good-looks was a passport to favor. He was soon 
shown up in his true colors. The shock must have 
been great to her; but she forgot him, I feel sure.” 

Marcelle rose slowly, saying:—“I hope you will 
pardon me if I err in my judgment,—but,—I think 
you have struck at the root of the trouble,—an old— 
lover. I am a woman, and T know what I am talking 
about, Mr. Weslow;—a woman seldom, or never for¬ 
gets an old lover, her first lover . . . All of a sudden 
memory may recall him;—she yearns for him, and, 
with thinking, and yearning, her heart’s love goes 
back to him. She grows to detest any one who stands 
between them.” 

Daniel Weslow rose to his feet, his face pale as 
death, his features working convulsively. An ominous 
silence fell between them. 


148 


WOODEN WIVES 


‘‘Remember, it is only my opinion, Mr. Weslow;— 
time will decide whether I am right—or wrong. You 
must await further developments ere you—decide— 
my opinion was correct / 7 

His head dropped on his breast; after a moment he 
raised it. 

“In the meantime, will you do all in your power to 
lift the cloud between my wife and me?” he asked in 
a voice choked with emotion. 

“I have already tried to do so, but thus far, have 
failed ignominiously, ” was her astonishing reply, as 
she turned away, with a low, tremulous—‘ ‘ Good night, 
sir.” 

The door closed after her,—and he was alone with 
his harrassing thoughts. “An old lover in the back¬ 
ground!” he muttered clenching his hands tightly to¬ 
gether. “Can it be Pauline still gives a thought to 
Boyd, thief, scoundrel that he is,—and I—loving her 
so madly. Surely God would not be so cruel to me as 
to let that happen.” 

He thought of how kind Miss Valleau was in en¬ 
deavoring to soften the blow for him;—though she 
was obliged to speak the truth; open his eyes to the 
true state of affairs. 

Only that morning he had fancied he saw Boyd 
passing him in a crowd. By the time he had wheeled 
about, the shabby fellow had vanished as completely 
as though the earth had opened and swallowed him. 

“I must have been mistaken,” he ruminated, and 
passed on. 

Now he fell to wondering if the fellow was indeed 


IF THE HEART HARBORS DOUBTS AND FEARS 149 

Boyd. His first thought was to call up the police who 
were still searching for their man, and acquaint them 
of his suspicions. He concluded to do a little investiga¬ 
tion on his own account first. 

Despite all the glory that goes with being a Senator, 
as he sat there Daniel Weslow was the most unhappy 
man in all Washington. The thought that he might 
possibly have a rival for his Pauline’s love was mad¬ 
dening. He wished he had never brought her east. His 
crown of glory was full of thorns—that reached down 
to his heart. 

In her boudoir, Pauline was tossing restlessly to and 
fro on her pillow. She could not sleep, thinking of the 
amazing disclosure Marcelle had made concerning 
Hugh Boyd. Was it possible she had really wrecked 
his life—that he had loved, and mourned her as much 
as that! How she pitied him; her heart ached for him. 
Would it be cruel to him to refuse to see him? Mar¬ 
celle had told her it was but a simple kindness to go 
to him; and that after seeing her, he would go away— 
never to cross her path or behold her again. He was 
yearning so pitifully to see her for just one little 
moment Marcelle had said, in pleading his cause with 
her.—She had also hinted that the deed to the wild 
strip of ground in the far west which Hughey would 
ask her to sign for the benefit of the poor, as their 
playground,—was in reality the only valid excuse he 
could think of for bringing her into his presence, and 
he had seized upon it. 

Pauline wiped the tears from her eyes, resolving the 
poor children of Oklahoma City should have the strip 


150 


WOODEN WIVES 


of ground;—that signed over to them, she would hold 
out her hand to Hughey, and say—Farewell,—uttering 
no other word. She would be brave, turning instantly, 
and leaving him. She thought of the lines:— 

“It is best to leave you thus dear, 

Best for you,—and, best—for—me." 

In her apartment across the corridor, Marcelle Val- 
leau was pacing up and down the room in a tumult of 
excitement. 

“She will go,” she muttered with a harsh laugh, “I 
imagined when she learned that the meeting place 
designated was—the French masked ball, she would 
balk at once, refusing outright;—the word—masked, 
—caught her. She felt she would be able to conceal 
her face, and no one would ever know of it—she is 
more simple than I took her to be; it seems.” 

In his room in the cheap lodging house, Boyd and 
Reardon were discussing the matter with gusto— 
though the hour was long past midnight. 

“This Valleau girl you speak of, is certainly a trump 
to influence the Senator’s young wife to take a fool¬ 
hardy step of that kind; ten to one, when she has 
time to think it over, she will wish to appoint some 
other place,—any other place than a masked ball.” 

“Marcelle Yalleau will hold her up to her promise, 
never fear,” returned Boyd. “This, together with her 
secret longing to see me again, will fetch her.” 

“Now let us come to a full understanding in this 
matter,” said Reardon. “I want to know just what 
I am to get out of it;—I am a dangerous man to at- 


IF THE HEART HARBORS DOUBTS AND FEARS 151 

tempt to double-cross, you understand? What’s my 
share in this deal?” 

For a full minute Boyd looked at him fixedly. Bear- 
don took note of this. 

“We have fixed up two papers for her to sign, 
haven’t we?” queried Boyd. Beardon nodded. Boyd 
went on slowly:—“One is a deed for her western 
property,—the whole of it,—and the other—the divorce 
paper you fixed up to be your trump card, Beardon, in 
taking a most stupendous revenge upon Daniel Weslow 
for being the means of getting you disbarred for a 
time, from law-practice. That ought to suffice you, as 
being your share in this affair.” 

“Satisfied revenge will not keep me eating!” re¬ 
torted Beardon, “besides that, I want an equal division 
between you and me, of the property that you will 
wheedle her into signing over. Understand that fully, 
Boyd. ’ ’ 

“We cannot afford to quarrel, no matter how hard 
you squeeze me when you find me in a tight place; I 
might have expected that from you, Beardon.” 

The other made no retort. He was satisfied with the 
decision. 

“You are sure everything is drawn up right?” asked 
Boyd anxiously. 

“Jit is my business to know how to draw papers 
correctly,” frowned Beardon; adding:—“That my 
name might not appear in either paper, I secured the 
services of a brother attorney here, a poor devil who is 
almost down and out—but as clever as he is poverty- 
stricken. He will have a notary there to acknowledge 


152 


WOODEN WIVES 


her signature,—and he will see to it that the papers 
are filed the first thing the following morning,*—which 
will cap the climax of this double deal.” 

The clock in an adjoining belfry struck four. 

“Morning!” commented Boyd, yawning. Without 
another word they turned in,—flinging themselves on 
the two bunks which served for beds in the room, and 
were soon sleeping as good a sleep as honest men enjoy, 
rogues though they were. 

The paleness of Pauline’s face showed Marcelle, the 
next morning, that she had not rested well. The 
moment they were alone she went up to Marcelle, 
whispering:—“Are you quite sure dear, it is right for 
me to go to see Hughey,—at the place—he requests 2 
I think I will ask him to come here.” 

“It is too late to change the place of meeting now,” 
returned Marcelle. “He phoned me before you were 
up, to learn your decision, and I assured him I had 
instructions from you that you would not disappoint 
him, you would be there. He is to leave the city on 
the midnight train. He is going to India, or some 
other far off place very shortly—as soon as he can 
arrange his affairs in New York. Poor fellow, I pity 
him with all my heart. I—I—think he is praying to 
die—and end it all. It is really a deed of mercy, dear 
Pauline, that you have consented to give him one ray 
of sunshine to pierce the gloom of his dark and dreary 
life. It was so good of you.” 

Pauline had watched the dawn break with a very 
troubled heart beating in her bosom. Despite Mar¬ 
celle’s assurance that her action in going to the French 


IF THE HEART HARBORS DOUBTS AND FEARS 153 

ball was quite all right under the circumstances, she 
felt unhappy over it. 

She had loved Hugh Boyd with all the guileless love 
of an innocent girlish heart. Fate, over which she had 
had no control, had parted them just as surely as 
though one of them lay in the grave. She was now 
the wife of Daniel Weslow.—No matter whom or what 
he was,—or what she had found out about him—which 
had killed her respect at one blow,—she was still 
bound to him—by shackles which would grip, and hold 
her the rest of her life. Her past, with that sweet 
girlish love,—and Hughey,—belonged to the years that 
were gone. She must take up the cross of her hapless 
married life, and bear it to the end. 

Noon came,—the hours of the afternoon speeded 
swiftly by, and the shadows of night slowly gathered 
over the city. Daniel brought a friend home to dinner. 
Marcelle was at her brilliant best,—fairly radiant.— 
Pauline alone seemed distraught;—only Daniel noticed 
it. 

After dinner the gentlemen went to the library. 
Marcelle followed Pauline to her boudoir to get her 
dressed and off. 

“I sent out for a costume, and was fortunate enough 
to secure the sweetest thing you ever saw; I’ll bring it 
right in to you.” She ran off to her room reappearing 
with a creation in white gauze flung over her arm. 

“Why, it’s a ballet costume!” dismayed Pauline. 

“The most beautiful thing they had/—in fact the 
only one they had left,” announced Marcelle coolly. 
Hobson’s choice, therefore, you must wear it.—You 


154 


WOODEN WIVES 


ought to be glad that the man who adores you, and 
who is to see you for the last time, will behold you 
looking like a fairy, a veritable dream of loveliness 
that will live in his memory—ever after.” 

The—short—skirt!” gasped Pauline in consterna¬ 
tion. “Oh, Marcelle! I—I—could not appear in it, 
believe me dear.” 

“You can indeed, and you MUST,” declared Mar¬ 
celle, hustling her into the abbreviated skirts.—You 
have never been to a French Masked ball. Let me tell 
you every one of the young ladies who will be there, 
will be wearing just this sort of a costume, £ assure 
you, therefore, you will not be noticed;—you would 
raise no end of conjecture as to your identity, if you 
wore anything else.” 

Against her better judgment Pauline yielded to the 
stronger will of Marcelle. 

“You are to meet him at ten;—that is the hour it 
begins;—it wants just twenty minutes to that time 
now. The taxi I engaged is waiting across the way.” 


CHAPTER XV 

WHEN JUDGEMENT SAYS—NO ! 

“Love enthralls us until we love the chain 

And Beauty’s smile is worth a miser’s gain; 

Then hope is better than reality 

And faith as boundless as the boundless sea.” 

While Pauline was still protesting she ought not to 
go to the French ball, Marcelle wrapped her own long, 
dark, enveloping cloak about her, hustled her down to 
the main hall without being observed by any of the 
servants, and out of the door into the waiting cab. 

“A young man will be watching and waiting for 
you,” whispered Marcelle, 4 'he knows this cab, its 
chauffeur, and number, he will make no mistake; he 
will conduct you to where Hugh is standing, without a 
moment’s loss of time. Put on this little silken mask 
just before you leave the taxi.” 

With these parting instructions, Marcelle closed the 
door with a bang, and the next instant Pauline, who was 
trembling like a leaf, was being whirled through the 
streets at a rapid pace to her destination. 

“Oh, why did I allow Marcelle to persuade me into 
coming—when my—better judgment says—No!” she 
faltered. Twice she rapped on the glass pane to attract 
the chauffeur’s attention, and order him to turn back,— 
apparently he did not hear, and redoubled his speed. 

A few moments later the taxi turned into a side 
street, stopping at length before a lighted building into 
155 


156 


WOODEN WIVES 


which merry crowds of men and young girls were 
making their way. 

Before Pauline had time to think, the door was 
opened by a very polite man who whispered, rather 
than asked t aloud:— 4 ‘ The lady Mr. Boyd was expect¬ 
ing ? ’ * 

Pauline adjusted the bit of lace and silk over her 
face, nodding in the affirmative. 

“Will you discard your cloak,—or retain it?” he 
asked. 

“I will keep it on, please, as I shall be here but a 
few moments.” 

He bowed respectfully, conducting her to the farthest 
end of the room, to a small booth, separated from the 
ball-room by draped French and American flags inter¬ 
twined. In an instant Boyd was at her side, his hands 
clasping both of hers. His dark eyes looking down into 
her own with their old-time magic spell. 

“Oh, Pauline!—forgive me, I cannot call you any¬ 
thing else—it was so good of you to come. Heaven has 
indeed answered my prayer—I am as a loss—that is,— 
I cannot find words in which to thank you.” 

By a tremendous effort Pauline gained something like 
composure. She drew her hands from his clinging 
clasp, answering:—“The noble object in which you are 
interesting yourself,—trying to bring relief into the 
lives of the suffering children of the poor, by obtaining 
play-grounds for them, ere the heat of the coming sum¬ 
mer is upon them,—is sufficient—reason—as to—why I 
—am here—to do my share—to aid you—in—the noble 
work you have undertaken,—Mr.—Boyd.” 


WHEN JUDGMENT SAYS—NO! 


157 


He was a master hand at acting; Belasco missed the 
chance of his life in not securing Hugh Boyd. Instant¬ 
ly he caused a rush of tears to fill his eyes, rolling down 
his cheeks. “ Would it be amiss if I asked you to call 
me—Hughey, as you once did in those old, sweet 
times?” he murmured. “Just—once,—I am hungering 
so to hear it on your lips.” 

She tried to utter the name, when she saw those tears, 
but it stuck in her throat. He noted her evident con¬ 
fusion. 

“If you will take this seat, with your back to the 
curtain, you could remove your mask;—You will do this, 
Pauline; I ask it—not as a request—but—a prayer to 
you,—that I may look on your face, the dearest the 
world ever held for me—or will hold, while my life 
lasts.” 

There was a tiny table in the booth,—she took off the 
mask and laid it down upon it,—She did not look up to 
meet his gaze which she knew was fixed with a burning 
intensity upon her;—she could hear his deep drawn 
sighs—and she was sorrier than ever that she had come. 

“I thank you more than words can express,” he 
whispered hoarsely, brokenly. 

She was frightened at the mood in which she found 
him. What if he should attempt to take her in his 
arms, and kiss her, as he had done many a time before— 
when they were betrothed lovers,—all forgetful of the 
gulf which separated them now. Somehow, she could 
not tell just why, or in what way,—but this man, stand¬ 
ing before her, in appearance slightly disheveled, and 
clothes a bit shabby, seemed strangely at variance with 


158 


WOODEN WIVES 


the natty, immaculate Hugh Boyd who had caught and 
held her girlish fancy in those other days. 

“More beautiful than ever!” he ejaculated, gazing 
like one entranced at her flushed, averted face, “and to 
think—a clown—has come between us!” 

In a moment Pauline was on her feet. No matter 
what she knew, secretly about Daniel Weslow, he 
was her husband; she was in duty bound not to allow 
any one to traduce, or speak lightly of him in her 
presence. 

“Stop!” she exclaimed in a clear, ringing voice. 
“You are forgetting you are addressing your remark— 
to—Daniel Weslow’s-—WIFE!” 

“Ah—ha!” he sneered with a boisterous laugh. “It 
seems that he has caught your heart in the rebound; I 
might have known better than to pin my hopes to the 
belief any woman can be constant;—it’s always the man 
who is on the ground—who has the show, and wins out; 
—and you are the girl who vowed, leaning against my 
heart, that you would love me to the hour of your 
death—” 

She interrupted him quickly. “I am here, to give, 
through you, that small bit of ground, to the poor 
children of Oklahoma City,” she announced gravely. 
“I think the quicker we transact the arrangement,— 
the better,—that I may take my departure.” 

“As you will, Pauline,” he responded, adding:—“I 
humbly beg a thousand pardons if I have said anything 
that offends you in any way;—through it all, bear in 
mind my emotion is almost uncontrollable—because I 
realize I am looking upon you for the last time, you 


WHEN JUDGMENT SAYS—NO! 159 

who have been next to my God in my heart, my idol. 
All that made life worth living, to me.” 

She was deeply touched by both his words and man¬ 
ner ; for one brief wild moment the thought came to her 
to hold out her hands to him crying out that she was 
more unhappy than he;—that her marriage had been a 
cruel mistake,—and what she had found out about the 
man whom she had wedded—concerning the articles his 
pockets had yielded. But the next instant—came a re¬ 
action—with a sudden thought which forced itself to 
her mind. 

She turned from him white and silent; he saw her 
tremble, then, gain her self possession by a great effort. 
He feared she was about to swoon, and made up his 
mind he must make haste to get those papers signed 
ere anything like that should happen—and upset his 
plans. 

He drew two papers from his breast pocket and laid 
them down before her saying: ‘‘This one is the deed 
for the strip of land—for you to sign,—and this other 
document—accompanies it on record.” 

Mechanically Pauline took up both papers and read 
them through. He had had a wager with Reardon— 
that she would not take the trouble to read them over, 
but would sign without doing so. Reardon had declared 
she WOULD look over them, and had prepared them 
accordingly. 

Boyd took his fountain pen from his pocket. 

“Where do I sign?” she asked, taking it from his 
hand. 

“One moment, Pauline,” he remarked, “I will call a 


160 


WOODEN WIVES 


young man, a notary who will be needed;—that is he, 
looking this way, expectantly.’ * 

Pauline followed the direction he indicated, observing 
a man approaching. 

Once again, while her attention was for an instant 
diverted, Hugh Boyd proved that he was still master of 
the art of legerdemain, by instantaneously thrusting the 
two papers she had examined under his coattail, sub¬ 
stituting two similar looking documents which he did 
not intend she should examine. In answer to Boyd’s 
nod, the man entered the booth. 

4 ‘You will sign there,” said Boyd, indicating a dotted 
line. He fairly held his breath until she had complied. 
—“And on the other paper,—there.” 

Again Pauline wrote her name where he directed. 
The notary took her acknowledgement, placing his seal 
which he had brought with him upon the documents, 
handing them to Boyd, remarking, he would meet him 
at the recorder’s office, the next morning, quite as soon 
as it was open. 

Bowing, he took his leave of them. 

With the two signed documents safe and snug in his 
breast pocket, Boyd could have shouted in his exuber¬ 
ance. He recollected just in time that it would never 
doHe and Reardon could shout and celebrate—later. 

“Now I will say good bye—and return to my home,” 
said Pauline, rising—as she spoke, she felt the folds of 
the cloak which she had been grasping tightly, slip 
through her fingers;—the next instant it lay at her feet. 

Boyd stared at her with a low whistle. 

“In costume—-by all that is wonderful!—and such a 


WHEN JUDGMENT SAYS—NO! 


161 


costume!” he ejaculated—a ballet-dancer. Ye gods!— 
you have come for a dance with me; you have yearned 
to be in my arms again, our hearts throbbing madly 
against each other! You love me yet, you beautiful 
darling! The dance music has just struck up, we will 
join the mad merry crowd,—have our fill of the joy of 
being together again,—you and I who still love each 
other so madly! ’ ’ 

He grasped her arm but she wrenched herself free 
from him. 

“No, no! I will not dance,—as you well know I am 
not here for that purpose—please escort me to the door 
and call a taxi for me.” 

“You are here, and you shall enjoy the evening with 
me,” he declared boisterously. “Do you think I am a 
stick, or a stone, with you so near me—to coolly let you 
go so soon! By George, no!” 

Pauline looked at him with dilated eyes. All in an 
instant she was losing her illusions concerning Hugh, 
and the consuming love for her which Marcelle had 
painted so adroitly, arousing ail her pity. 

She thought in that moment of her father’s words:— 
“Boyd is a—scoundrel—as you will find out some day; 
—I would rather see you dead, my daughter, than 
wedded to that poltroon who has no respect for virtue.” 

Both Mrs. Holt and all the servants in her old home 
were against him—even Daniel Weslow had said:—“I 
have come to the conclusion that our marriage was God’s 
wise purpose in taking you away from that villain, 
Hugh Boyd. He is all that is bad, Pauline, without one 
redeeming virtue,—His reputation is of the worst; there 


162 


WOODEN WIVES 


is no crime of which he is not capable. It is not in him 
to care for a good woman. ’ ’ 

She turned and looked at Boyd. His face was flushed 
with excitement—his manner toward her had suddenly 
turned from respectful to domineering,—nay, almost— 
insulting. 

She repeated her request to be escorted to a taxi. 

“Not just yet, my beautiful, imperious Pauline/’ he 
repeated. “You are going to dance with me, not once, 
but a dozen times. 111 warrant there will not be a man 
in the room who will not be envying me clasping to my 
bosom so enchanting a creature, a fairy in gauze. Your 
friend Marcelle knew quite well it would inflame my 
fancy—to see you—like that!” 

“I have always had the utmost respect for you up to 
this moment,” cried Pauline, her voice ringing with 
scorn. “Now—you have changed it to the utmost— 
contempt. I—I—have changed my mind about permit¬ 
ting you to be the custodian of those papers, you will 
hand them back to me, sir.” 

He laughed the most blood-curdling laugh that ever 
fell from human lips. “Forget about it,” he sneered, 
dropping his mask of politeness, and pretended affec¬ 
tion.—“ You left me flat—that other time, tit for tat is 
fair play, my haughty beauty. I told you then—in 
those other days, I was not the man to be thrown 
down by a woman, and if you attempted it, it would be 
playing with a two edge sword. Now you shall—” 

Pauline turned from him white with rage and in¬ 
sulted pride. 

“I have requested of you to escort me to a taxi—now, 


WHEN JUDGMENT SAYS—NO ! 


163 


I shall not permit you to do so.—I shall go myself,—If 
you attempt to detain me, I shall cry for assistance. 
Surely there are gentlemen out there who will rush to 
aid a lady in distress .’’ 

He laughed at her scornfully. “ There is not a man 
out there who would interfere,” he announced, adding, 
“No LADY would be expected to be in this place. 
They would soon subdue your idea of shouting out;— 
they do not want the place pulled on account of any 
woman’s fool notion. I am well known here; one word 
from me, and the Jazz band would drown any fool 
shrieks you might be attempting to get away with.” 

Pauline was becoming frantic,—hysterical with terror. 
“I—I humble myself to appeal to you,” she sobbed. 
“If there is one spark of honor, of—gentlemanly 
chivalry left within you, I plead to you to get me out 
of this place. I—I—shall die if I am forced to remain 
here a moment longer; I ask of you, for the last time, 
Hugh Boyd, will you get me away from here.” 

“On one condition,” he replied, and that is, that you 
dance with me—without attempting to make any fuss, or 
scene about it. Seeing you in that abbreviated costume 
fires my ambition to dance with you. If you are wise 
you will consent.” 

“My—husband will make you answer to him for this 
affront to me, sir,” she panted, bursting into tears. 

“Threats do not frighten me,” he returned. “I do 
not look past the present to see what is likely to happen 
to me in the future.” 

“If I refuse to dance with you?” she queried, choking 
back her sobs. 


164 


WOODEN WIVES 


“You shall sit right there in that chair, until you see 
the wisdom of changing your mind,” he declared. “To 
dance with me is not such a horrible thing to contem¬ 
plate. I know a score of beauties who would ask no 
greater delight than to dance with me, I assure you. ’ ’ 

Pauline did not answer, her brain was in a whirl; 
she was trying to decide what was best to do under the 
pitiable circumstances. This was Hugh Boyd’s manner 
of revenging himself upon her. In that moment she 
thanked her God that she had been prevented from 
marrying the villain who now stood unmasked of his 
true character before her. 

She realized he would keep his word, force her to 
remain until she did dance with him. She concluded it 
might be best to comply,—get it over as soon as pos¬ 
sible. That would appease him, and she could get away. 

He looked at her fixedly, reading all that was passing 
through her mind—but she was far and away from 
knowing what was passing through his mind. She 
turned and faced him, raising her head proudly, with 
the haughty gesture he remembered so well. 

“I will dance with you—it being the price you set— 
upon seeing me out of this place,—but it is not of my 
free will I do so.” 

“You do well to be so sensible—at last,” he com¬ 
mented. At that moment the music struck up with a 
deafening crash. Boyd caught her in his arms, and the 
next instant she was being whirled along into the thick 
of the boisterous crowd—Boyd’s arms about her, crush¬ 
ing her in a close embrace. 


CHAPTER XVI 
lost! a husband’s confidence 

“We find ourselves in wild despair 
Midst scattered broken treasures. 

All is wrecked which promised once so fair; 

We stop ourselves with sorrow's two edged knife, 

And yet—A little patience strengthens life." 

All unmindful of the event which meant so much to 
him which was transpiring elsewhere, Daniel Weslow 
and his visitor talked long and earnestly in his library 
over a very important bill which was to be brought 
before the senate the following day. 

The chiming of the great clock in the corridor with¬ 
out, announcing the hour of ten, brought the guest 
to his feet, apologizing for having remained so long. 
After taking leave of him, Daniel returned to the 
library to muse long, and carefully over all his brother 
Senator had said. 

There was a light tap on the door,—in answer to his 
“come in,” a servant entered, bearing a special de¬ 
livery letter for him. Since he had been a Senator, in 
Washington, he had been deluged with mail of that 
kind. This differed from the rest by bearing the words 
in the lower left-hand corner:—‘ ( Open quickly, you 
have not a moment to lose.” 

Daniel smiled, and it was the last smile that was to 
come to his lips for long years. Methodically, and 
mechanically he opened it with his paper cutter, run- 
165 


166 


WOODEN WIVES 


ning his eyes carelessly over the first few words. What 
he read sent the blood from his face, and caused his 
heart to stop beating as though the icy hand of death 
were gripping it. There were but a few lines, which 
read as follows:— 

“ Senator Weslow:—If you would save yourself from 
a sensational expose,—and also your wife, go quickly 
to . . . Street—where a French mask-ball is in pro¬ 
gress. Your wife is there, in a costume which only 
the women who attend that particular place, would 
have the hardihood to wear. As I write this, she is 
on the floor, dancing with a man whom I hear bears 
the worst of reputations, and learn his name is Hugh 
Boyd. To avoid one of the worst scandals Washing¬ 
ton has ever been so near to getting hold of,—get your 
wife away with all haste; I hear, too, from unques¬ 
tionable authority,—the place is to be pulled at 10.30. 

“(Signed) A Friend.” 

With hands that trembled like aspen leaves, Daniel 
consulted his watch; the hands pointed to 10.05. Seiz¬ 
ing his hat and coat he dashed out of the house. Hail¬ 
ing a passing taxi on which he saw the sign, “For 
Hire,” he sprang in giving his destination in a thick, 
unsteady voice, promising the chauffeur thrice the 
usual fare if he got him there quickly. 

“We generally make it a thirty minutes drive, but 
if you will do as you say sir, I’ll cut through the back 
streets and alleys, landing you there in five. Fumbling 
in his pocket Daniel drew forth from his pocket a bill, 


lost! a husband’s confidence 167 

thrusting it into the fellow’s hand without looking at 
it. 

“Wait for me,—you shall have double that sum, ,, 
he said, springing out of the taxi, and darting into a 
door-way that bore the number indicated in the un¬ 
signed note. 

There was no sign of life about the building when 
viewed from the street;—every shade was carefully 
drawn. Someone rushed out of the darkness from the 
other end of the hall, halting him. 

A bill thrust hastily in that individual’s hand proved 
an open sesame. “I—I—am not—an official,” he 
volunteered, “I—I-—want to look—on.” 

The man had recognized him; although Daniel did 
not know this, and escorted him to the ball-room with¬ 
out further ado,—restraining a chuckle over the—big 
fish—that were beginning to come to “look on, at their 
dances,—usually waiting the unmasking hour, to see 
the faces of the bewitching beauties whose costumes 
had caught their admiratoin. 

The look-out put th^ Western Senator down as a 
man in this class. Daniel stood in the door-way watch¬ 
ing the scene of revelry with dilated eyes. 

He was used to the exuberant dances of the far west; 
he saw that they were like church-picnics in decorum, 
compared to this. It was gayer than he had seen in 
even Paris itself,—and ballet-costumes, what every 
woman and girl on the floor, dancing, was wearing.— 
It being the anniversary of a great Parisienne produc¬ 
tion in which the ballet was first introduced. 

For a few moments Daniel stood in the doorway 


168 


WOODEN WIVES 


quite bewildered at the gay spectacle before him. He 
scanned each couple that whirled past him with scorch¬ 
ing eyes. He was just about to turn away, believing 
himself to be the victim of a cruel hoax—when sud¬ 
denly his glance encountered Hugh Boyd. He was 
dancing with the utmost abandon, and clasped close 
in his arms he held a slender figure. With the exer¬ 
tion of the dance her hair had become loosened, and 
fell in a mass of rippling gold to her waist; and in that 
moment the silken cord which had held the mask in 
place gave way, falling to the floor,—disclosing the 
face of—Pauline—his—WIFE! 

In that self-same instant, Boyd was also aware that 
Pauline’s mask had slipped off,—and, ere she had an 
inkling of his intentions, he had caught her closer still 
in his clasp, kissing the unwilling lips so near his own. 

With a mighty cry, that those who heard it never 
forgot, Daniel Weslow with a bound cleared the space 
that divided them. In a trice he had torn Pauline 
from Boyd’s arms. Thrusting her back of him with 
his left hand, he made a lunge at Boyd with his right 
that hurled him instantly to the floor.—In a twinkling 
Boyd regained his feet. Then followed a battle for 
supremacy the like of which had never been fought 
before. Daniel Weslow was the most powerful, but 
Boyd, the more agile and scientific. 

The throng made a circle about the combatants, no 
effort being made to separate them;—indeed such 
fracases were of common occurrence there—two men 
battling fiercely—for—a woman. One last lunge sent 
Boyd sprawling upon the floor—in no hurry to rise. 


lost! a husband’s confidence 169 

Pauline had swooned. Raising her quickly in his 
arms, Daniel gained the door and was soon on the 
street. The taxi awaited him. Thrusting Pauline into 
it, he jumped in, giving the chauffeur the hurried 
direction “To the place you took me from.” 

He was not an instant too soon, just then a fleet of 
cars, hove in sight.—He realized, as did the chauffeur, 
that they had escaped the raid by a hairsbreadth. 

The officers spotted the fleeing car, and one of their 
machines immediately started in pursuit. “Outwit 
them at any cost!” Weslow cried out to the chauffeur, 
“you can name your own price, my lad.” The man 
nodded. 

Then followed a desperate race between the pur¬ 
sued, and the pursuer,—one bullet after another crash¬ 
ing through the glass of the taxi as he sent his car 
madly on, defying their commands to—“Halt!” 

Daniel had adopted the course he thought wisest 
and best to escape the dreadful notoriety that would 
have ensued had they been overtaken—and arrested, 
recognition following on the heels of it. He would 
protect Pauline from that at the cost of his life, if 
need-be. 

At length Fate was kind to the fugitives; tire 
trouble overtook the pursuing car when they had al¬ 
most come along-side of the dust-covered taxi. 

Weslow’s chauffeur saw, and instantly took ad¬ 
vantage of the situation sending the taxi ahead with a 
dangerous speed over gulches, fallen boughs, and 
around curves, that fairly took Daniel’s breath away. 
By a circuitous route he at length reached the Weslow 


170 


WOODEN WIVES 


home, and turned away from it a hundred dollars 
richer because of his adventure. 

Pauline was just recovering from her swoon as he 
laid her down upon the davenport in the library. She 
saw Daniel, standing before her with folded arms, his 
face white as it would ever be in death,—as she opened 
her dazed eyes. He put his hands quickly over her 
mouth to avert the scream of terror on her lips, as 
memory rushed back to her. 

“Hush! you will awaken the servants!” he cried 
harshly, his intense gaze of fury burning down into 
her very soul. 

“I will explain to you how it happened!” she 
sobbed, struggling to a sitting posture, “then you will 
understand—” 

He interrupted her with the harshest laugh that ever 
fell from a man’s lips. “I understand—the whole ac¬ 
cursed thing!” he cried. “You have outraged my 
love, my dignity, and my position—by surreptitiously 
meeting your—lover—in a place no respectable woman 
would have set her foot.—He pointed to her filmy, torn 
costume, his voice ringing with scathing words, brand¬ 
ing her, allowing her no opportunity to defend herself. 

She cowered from him in abject terror. She would 
not have been much surprised if he had forgotten him¬ 
self so far as to have struck her with his upraised, 
clenched hand, so great was his anger toward her. 

“Go to your room, now,” he commanded, “tomorrow 
I shall send you back to your father in New York. I 
will ask Miss Valleau to accompany you.” 

Without a word Pauline arose; she did not know 


lost! a husband’s confidence 171 

how she was ever to reach the door, in that costume, 
with his withering, scorching gaze bent full upon her. 
His overpowering rage terrified her. As she reached 
the door as a parting shot, he called out to her:—“I 
could have had your lover—for whom the detectives 
are scouring the country,—arrested, then and there;— 
your presence there with him,—saved him;—for the 
time-being.” 

With stumbling feet Pauline groped her way 
through the corridor, up the stairs,—meeting Mar- 
celle as she opened her boudoir door. 

To her great surprise Marcelle made no offer to take 
her in her arms and try to console her. “Marcelle,” 
she whispered, “let me tell you all—that—-has—hap¬ 
pened to me.” 

The French girl turned from her with a shrug of her 
shoulders. “You don’t need to; you forget the library 
door was open;-—it being directly under this room, I 
heard distinctly every word he said to you.”—I was— 
quite amazed to hear—you were caught—dancing— 
with your old lover!” 

“Listen, Marcelle, do not be like him; do not con¬ 
demn me unheard;—you will not censure me when 
you know-how it came about;—I was unwilling to 
dance—I should not—” 

Marcelle interrupted her with a taunting laugh. 

“You wou|d have a hard time trying to convince 
the world—of^-your—innocence. Do you know what 
you have done!—you have ruined Daniel Weslow’s 
prospects for ajfi time to come. He is living in the 
Jiope that you and he escaped detection, while, on the 


172 


WOODEN WIVES 


contrary, two newspaper reporters were on hand, 
awaiting an expected raid of the place. They knew 
him, and knew he was there—the worst place im¬ 
aginable,—and got into a broil over a woman. He 
wouldn’t dare say—it was—his—WIFE. He must 
shield your name at all hazards. By tomorrow, there 
is not a paper in Washington that will not have an 
account of their—HONORABLE—Senator’s escapade. 
I have my opinion as to how it will end for him.” 

“Oh, Marcelle, tell me what I am to do! Come with 
me now to the newspapers and I will tell them just 
how I happened to go there. You will tell them too, 
Marcelle, that you said to me that it would be quite 
all right for me to go.—Remember I went on a chari¬ 
table mission—to help the poor.” 

Again Marcelle’s taunting laugh fell on her troubled 
ears. 

“You ask me what is best for you to do, Pauline 
Weslow, and I am going to tell you:—-You must go 
away at once, within this hour,—go so far away that 
—Daniel Weslow will never find you—to wreck his 
vengeance upon you.—Believe me, you have turned his 
love to the direst hatred. For your own safety’s sake, 
you must leave him, and go far away, I say.” 

Pauline came up to her, catching frantically at her 
skirts. “There—is—a reason—why—I—should not— 
leave—Daniel!” she whispered faintly. “I—oh, I— 
never realized—until now—that I must love him, for 
I—” she whispered the rest of the sentence brokenly 
into Marcelle’s startled ear, adding:—“Now you see 
why I—must not go from him.” 


lost! a husband’s confidence 173 

“Does he—know?” queried Marcelle, sharply, “I 
imagine not, or he would have mentioned the subject 
to you tonight.” 

Pauline shook her head, answering faintly, “No— 
I—did—not—tell—him. He has decided to send me to 
father—tomorrow. I would rather die than go there.” 

“You are quite right,—you ought not to go to your 
father. You must take the mid-night train for New 
York, connecting there for Chicago, anywhere—the 
farther away—the better. I will furnish you with the 
money. You must never write to Weslow;—write to 
me, and I will keep you informed as to what the 
chances are—if any—to effect a reconciliation. Such 
men as Daniel Weslow, grow more bitter with passing 
time, often.” 

In her hysterical plight, Pauline was not strong 
enough to combat Marcelle’s strong will, or think for 
herself. 

“You must wear your plainest clothes, Pauline,” 
she went on, “a dark cloth dress—and cape. have a 
small dark hat and veil, you must wear them.” With 
deft hands she packed a small grip. “You need not 
even have the trouble of purchasing a ticket to New 
York, but can use the one I was to return on.” 

For the second time that night, Marcelle hustled 
Pauline out of the house, giving the chauffeur of the 
taxi,—which, by the way, happened to be the same 
one,—the directions:—To the Grand Central Depot. 

Marcelle entered her room again, just in time to 
answer her phone which was ringing. She was startled 
to find it was Boyd speaking. 


174 


WOODEN WIVES 


“I suppose by this time, you have heard all about 
the fracas that took place;—I’m a little the worse for 
handling, but don’t look it. The plan worked out 
beautifully; the dear girl signed the deed which makes 
over to me—as is clearly specified,—every foot of 
property she owns, both in Washington, and the far 
west;—also signing the paper my friend Reardon was 
so anxious about—which is an action for a divorce 
against Weslow. They will be filed—both papers,— 
the moment the recorder’s office is open tomorrow 
morning. I take the midnight train for New York, 
—my friend Reardon stopping over another day, to 
see what will be in the papers about tonight’s affair.” 

It was Boyd’s turn to register surprise when Mar- 
celle guardedly told him what had transpired after 
Weslow had gotten Pauline home;—the fierce quarrel, 
—and the last surprising news that Pauline had left 
Daniel, and that she, too, was taking that same mid¬ 
night train for New York. She could hear Boyd 
laugh boisterously. 

“The newspapers will also be informed, that the 
golden haired beauty who was the cause of Weslow’s 
jealousy, accompanied the man she had been dancing 
with,—to New York, on the Midnight-Express,” 
laughed Marcelle. 


CHAPTER XVII 


WHAT IS LIFE WORTH, IF WE LOSE THE ONE WE LOVE 
“The mind has a thousand eyes 
And the heart but one; 

Yet the light of the whole world dies 
When Love is done.” 

Upon Pauline’s departure from the room, Daniel Wes- 
low had dropped into the nearest seat, like one stricken 
—awaiting death. It seemed to him he was in the grip of 
a horrible nightmare from which he must awaken, find¬ 
ing all the events through which he had just passed, 
were but the imaginings of an overworked brain. With 
his arms leaning on the table, and his head upon them,— 
his mind traveled slowly over all that had occurred.—It 
was no dream;—he wished to Heaven it were. 

Out of his chaotic thoughts, all that was clear to him, 
was, that he and the young wife he had loved better than 
life itself,—Pauline, whom he still loved,—were parted; 
—that from this hour—they would be as strangers to 
each other,—he would have to live—without her. He 
felt that this would be impossible. To some men love 
is a passing fancy, perishable as the down of the thistle; 
—to others it is a net-work which is woven so securely 
about the heart it gradually becomes a part of it;— 
dominating, hope, joy,—all that makes life worth living. 

Since the hour he had first noticed Pauline’s coldness 
to him, he had been wont to think:—There are those 
who indulge in overdoses of affection,—those who are 
175 


176 


WOODEN WIVES 

contented with moderation,—and in strange contrast, 
there are those whose hearts are famished for want of it; 
—he, belonging to the latter class. While out in the far 
west Pauline had been drawn into the confession to him 
—that she did not love him,—that there was another 
lover in the background. 

This discovery had nearly killed him,—Mrs. Bemis 
had assured him this was but a girlish fancy on Pau¬ 
line’s part, that marriage would surely cause the old 
fascination to fade from her heart, and a newer, strong¬ 
er, deeper love,—a wife’s love for her husband,—take its 
place,”—and— he had been foolish enough to put 
credence in it,—aye,—consign himself to a fool’s para¬ 
dise. 

After coming to Washington,—she had met Boyd 
again, and the old glamor had taken possession of her; 
—the old love had revived. He believed that was the 
solution of her coldness to himself;—the woman who 
has a lover in the background, chafes under the ties that 
bind her to another.—It had ended—disastrously, as 
such cases do. 

On the morrow he intended to send Pauline to her 
father,—to wait there, until he could get to New York 
to confer with Senator Rae, as to what course was best 
for him to pursue. He concluded to wait until morning 
to phone him to tell him to expect her. 

All through the long hours of the wretched night that 
dragged their slow lengths by Daniel sat thinking— 
thinking! At length day broke, the sun rose bright and 
golden in the eastern sky. Sitting there, Daniel heard 
the whistling milkman pass under the window to the 


WHAT IS LIFE WORTH, IF WE LOSE THE ONE WE LOVE 177 

rear of the house, and the footsteps of the servants pass¬ 
ing down the stairs;—then, the newsboy as he threw the 
morning paper in through the iron gate-way. 

He aroused himself with an effort. —a trembling 
fear seizing him—that there might be something in the 
morning paper concerning what had transpired. Seiz¬ 
ing the paper, he hurried back to the library, carefully 
closing the door after him. He had barely seated him¬ 
self, spreading it open, ere the picture of himself con¬ 
fronted his horrified gaze. Yes, there it was, the whole 
story of his being in the place scheduled for raiding, and 
of his battle with another man, over a beautiful blonde. 
It went on to state, that the man whom the Senator from 
the west, had temporarily vanquished,—was seen board¬ 
ing the midnight train for New York,—the petite blonde 
in question having boarded it a few minutes before. 

At that moment the servants heard a heavy fall from 
the direction of the library. Hurrying there, they 
found Daniel Weslow lying face downward upon the 
floor, the paper clutched in his hand. 

The physician who was hastily summoned,—looked 
grave. 

Three days later, Marcelle was permitted to enter the 
sick-room, and then, but for a few moments, and in the 
doctor’s presence,—who warned her against causing the 
patient the least excitement. 

Daniel, looking up, as she stood beside the couch, 
noted she had been weeping. “Do not feel sorry for me 
Miss Valleau, he murmured, I am praying to—pass 
away,—not to recover. They tell me there was a dread¬ 
ful wreck—Pauline perished.” 


178 


WOODEN WIVES 


Marcelle’s tears fell afresh, the doctor’s warning 
glance held her in check. 

“I know all, dear Miss Valleau,” he whispered 
brokenly,—even that she fled—and—with—Him. Only 
last week I deeded to her—everything I owned—in the 
world,—she signed it all over to—him. I know too— 
she—has—instituted divorce proceedings against me. I 
shall resign from the senate—in which I shall never 
show my face again,—the—resignation to take place, at 
once—under my—physician’s orders. It is well—this— 
happened as it is about to—adjourn. 

“You will soon be well and—strong again—to return 
to your home in the west,” she sobbed, adding, “I too, 
intend to go west—soon.” 

He shook his head wearily;—“I am accompanying the 
doctor abroad”—I may return years from now,—per¬ 
haps I may never come back. 

“Being penniless, I begin my life work—all over 
again; I—shall find work of some kind to do. Good¬ 
bye, Miss Valleau,” he said as she was turning away, 
“we will probably never meet again!” 

Marcelle groped her way from the room. Once in her 
own apartment, she gave vent to the full torrent of rage 
that was consuming her. 

Her every plan had miscarried. She had hoped to 
gain Daniel Weslow’s heart in the rebound, marrying 
him when he was—free. 

Now, he was going away, penniless,—a man broken in 
heart, health and spirits. I had best get back to New 
York and attend to old Senator Kae,” she concluded. 
She could hear the doctor giving orders to the servants 


WHAT IS LIFE WORTH, IF WE LOSE THE ONE WE LOVE 179 

that “ Senator Weslow was to be removed within the 
hour,—and the house must be closed—at once.” The 
city being rife with the news the midnight express had 
been wrecked—few escaping death by fire. 

She was not permitted to see Daniel again. Late that 
afternoon she reached the Rae home. As she had ex¬ 
pected, the household was all upset over the story print¬ 
ed in the afternoon papers copied from the Washington 
morning dailies, adding the news of the wrecked express 
and the sacrifice of scores of lives. 

She found the old Senator pacing the floor like a 
veritable madman. Over the phone, Daniel’s doctor 
had verified all he had read, and that he was taking 
Daniel abroad. The old Senator was so agitated he 
even forgot to greet Mareelle with his usual kiss;— 
when she called attention to it, he performed the salute 
mechanically. 

“Your daughter fled with her old lover, now she is no 
more,” she whispered,—“but you—have me to love 
you.” She saw, with consternation, that he did not 
enthuse as in the past over the prospect. At that mo¬ 
ment, the old Senator lapsed into such a spell she was 
alarmed lest he should pass away at any time. It was 
certainly a fact that his ardor had cooled considerably. 
His one cry was for his daughter—Pauline, always for 
Pauline.—She concluded there was no time to be lost in 
marrying him.—When she broached the subject, he 
made no answer.—I had intended to come back a week 
before, in response to your urgent appeals,—but could 
not get away from Pauline sooner,” she murmured. 


180 


WOODEN WIVES 


As she spoke, he turned his face from her, and she 
heard him murmur:—“Oh, Pauline—Pauline!”—Dead 
—in all her youth and beauty. I do not want to live— 
now that my child—has gone from me! ,> 

Marcelle bit her lip fiercely. “Oh, do not talk like 
that!” she cried—“because you are so unhappy and 
lonely, our marriage shall not be put off any longer; 
you need me, and I have concluded that the marriage 
shall take place at once, quite as soon as you can secure 
a license and a clergyman to officiate.” 

He shook his head sorrowfully, “No, no, Marcelle, 
that was all a mistake I see now, as never before—youth 
should wed youth;—an old man is not a proper mate for 
a fair young woman. You must forget anything of that 
kind that may have been said between us. ’ 7 

“You do not,—you cannot mean that, Senator Kae,” 
she panted, springing to her feet and looking at him 
with darkening, flashing eyes.—“After winning all of 
my young heart's love, do you mean that you would 
cast me off in that fashion? It takes two people to 
make a bargain, therefore, two to break one.” 

“No man should ask a woman to marry him unless he 
intends to do so—if she consents—or—stand the chance 
of being made to do so.” 

“Marcelle,—Miss Valleau,—you forget yourself,” he 
responded with dignity, I hardly think you meant the 
last part of that sentence. It does not become a young 
woman to insist upon marriage when it has become dis¬ 
tasteful to the other party equally interested. I have 
been thinking the matter all over, I say, and I feel that 


WHAT IS LIFE WORTH, IF WE LOSE THE ONE WE LOVE 181 

it would not be right to marry you. I may have been 
a little hasty in proposing marriage, but, even so, it was 
the fault of the head, not the heart.” 

As Marcelle saw the prospect looming before her of 
losing the Rae fortune,—(and she could never go back 
to cabaret work now),—she grew furious over the 
obstinacy of the old man. 

4 ‘I did not mean to cause you grief in any way,” he 
went on. ‘ ‘ The time will come when you will look back 
to this scene and say:—‘The old Senator was right. I 
thank Heaven that I did not make the sacrifice of be¬ 
coming his bride.’ You will in time, meet some good, 
and true young man who will easily make up for what 
you may now consider—a loss . 9 9 

Marcelle stood before him trembling with blinding 
passion. 

“Nothing that you can say, changes my determina¬ 
tion,” she declared. “If I sue you, the law would give 
me the greater part of your fortune.” 

Senator Rae rose to his feet, with great dignity facing 
her. “We shall see,” he cried, shaking his cane fiercely 
at her. “I will make a test case of this for the benefit 
of elderly men who may be tempted to wed young 
girls,—and open their oyes to the fact that they are 
marrying them to spend their money. Go right ahead 
with your breach-of-promise suit young woman. You 
will find old Lawyer Rae—who never shrunk from battle 
yet,—either in the courts, or the Senate, is ready to 
meet a foe upon any ground, and cross swords if need 
be. Good Afternoon—and—Good-bye ! 9 9 

Marcelle instantly saw she had gone too far, and that 


182 WOODEN WIVES 

she must endeavor to temporize with the irritable old 
man. 

She dropped on her knees before him, seizing his 
hand, and covering it with kisses.—“I—did not mean 
all that,’’ she sobbed, “the thought of your putting me 
away from your heart—made me desperate, believe me. 
I love you so much, Senator, that I cannot live without 
you. Oh, surely you have too great a heart to change 
your sentiments, and turn your love against a poor, 
friendless girl—who has neither father nor mother, nor 
any one to turn to to comfort me in this hour of woe— 
because of some unknown change that has come over 
you. Oh, do not put me from you, out of your life, 
poor little Mareelle, who loves you so,-—I shall die if you 
do.” 

He looked at her in consternation; she could see he 
was wavering, and she thought of the line, “He who 
hesitates, is lost,” and renewed her pleadings to be 
taken back to his heart as his promised bride. 

It was an unequal battle for supremacy. Had he, 
after all, misjudged her motive in insisting upon marry¬ 
ing him? She was so wondrously beautiful, and ever 
since the world began men have fallen for beautiful 
women—unable to say them nay when they plead with 
them. 

“Do not grieve, so, my dear child,” he said distress- 
edly, “yes, yes, I will take you back to my heart, if you 
insist you will be happy only if I do this,—and I sup¬ 
pose the wedding can take place whenever you desire. 
It is as you say, Mareelle,—My daughter has passed 
away, in all the world—I have—only—you. ’’ 


WHAT IS LIFE WORTH, IF WE LOSE THE ONE WE LOVE 183 

She looked up at him through her tears. The matter 
was settled. 

######## 

But to return to the midnight express, as it whirled 
out of Washington. 

Boyd, watching, saw Pauline board the train. He 
made up his mind not to acquaint her of his presence 
on board, being by no means sure of the reception he 
would meet with. If she were to expose his identity,— 
it would mean prison for him. He went on into the 
smoker to think out a line of procedure. He had no 
use for Pauline, now that he had secured her fortune,— 
but he could not help realize she was far more beautiful 
now than she had been in the old sweetheart days. She 
was therefore——” 

He did not finish the line of thought over which he 
had spent quite an hour. Suddenly he was tossed 
through the open window at which he had been sitting, 
landing, bruised and bleeding on the edge of an embank¬ 
ment. 

Ere he could struggle to his feet wild cries rent the 
air, swallowed up in the sound of a terrific crash; and 
amidst the awful groans and shrieks for aid that rent 
the air,—volumes of smoke and great tongues of flames 
shot upward. It was not until the grey dawn broke 
that the extent of the awful holocaust became ascer¬ 
tained, and the work of rescuing those who had not been 
consumed by the flames begun. 

Not one had escaped from the second Pullman car, 
they said. That told Boyd, Pauline had perished, in it. 
He made a get-away without losing further time* 



184 


WOODEN WIVES 


As a matter of fact, finding no seat in the car she had 
entered, Pauline had secured a seat in the last car. 
She had been found, among others, pitiably crushed, and 
scorched—but still breathing faintly. 

For a moment, the village night-watch,—of the little 
town outside of which the holocaust occurred—was at a 
loss what to do with her, concluding she was nearly 
done for,—but his tenderness of heart would not let 
him leave her there. He carried the slight form to his 
own home a short distance down the road. “A young 
miss I found—dying, Mary,” he whispered—“we’ll put 
her on the bed—the end will soon come.” 

A few moments later his wife joined him on the 
porch. “She is not a young miss,” she said;—“she 
must be—a married woman, but—there is no wedding 
ring on her poor little bruised hand.” 

“Let her be whom, or what she may, it is our duty to 
keep her beneath our roof—until we make sure whether 
she is to live,—or—die. It is fortunate your brother, 
Dr. Northby, is on his way to visit us, arriving at any 
time now.—He will see to it—that she does not pass out 
of this world without having done everything possible 
to save her.” 


CHAPTER XVin 


THERE IS A DESTINY WHICH SHAPES OUR ENDS, ROUGH— 
HEW THEM AS WE MAY 

“Ah! what avail, the largest gifts of Heaven 
When drooping health and spirits go amiss! 

How tasteless then, whatever can be given, 

Health is the vital principle of bliss.” 

Doctor Northby arrived shortly after. His sister, 
Mrs. Reed quickly informed him of the stranger be¬ 
neath their roof, and her critical condition; he went 
at once to her bed-side. 

A few moments later, with a perturbed face, he 
appeared in the door-way, calling his sister to the 
stranger’s bed-side. 

They talked long and earnestly;—the outcome of it 
was, his decision that she would be under that roof 
two months or more,—that is, if she lived through 
all that was before her. 

1 1 Whoever she belongs to, must be dreadfully wor¬ 
ried over her,” said Mrs. Reed, looking down pityingly 
on the white, childish face, with the soft tangled rings 
of golden hair curling about it. 

Together she and the doctor worked over her; then, 
to their intense relief they saw the blue eyes open 
slowly. Pauline looked up in bewilderment into the 
two kindly faces bending over her, and at the plain 
little room in which she found herself. 

“I will talk to her alone,” whispered the doctor,— 
185 


186 


WOODEN WIVES 


motioning his sister to leave the room. The first ques¬ 
tion he put to her was the request for her name, that 
her people might be notified. 

Tears choked her voice;—all he could make out was 
—Lene, or Lena—Wess—or Weis;—and the name— 
Lena Weis,—was the one the doctor sent out by tele¬ 
graph to the Rail-road officials in Washington, who 
had the matter in charge. The Night-watch suggested 
sending her to the nearest hospital but his wife shook 
her head. Quite a little sum of money was found 
pinned inside of her waist, she said.—“She will pay 
out of that for all we do for her,—besides,—my 
brother, visiting here, can give her his full and un¬ 
divided attention. Her case is a pitiful one, requiring 
unusual skill,—which my brother possesses /’ 

When asked for her home address, Pauline shook 
her head with a burst of tears, answering—she “had 
no home, no one on—earth who loved her.” The ap¬ 
parent desolation of her situation brought tears of pity 
to the eyes of the honest young physician. He was 
greatly pained to hear her sob, over and over again, 
that she wanted to die—and end it all. 

Very gravely, and earnestly, the doctor explained 
why she must bend every endeavor to regain her 
strength—and—live. She only looked up at him 
through blinding tears, whispering—“death would be 
kinder than life.” 

Doctor Northby had intended staying only a fort¬ 
night on this visit to his sister, but, as the days wore 
on, he became so deeply interested in his patient, he 
decided to remain, and see her illness through to the 
very end. 


THERE IS A DESTINY WHICH SHAPES OUR ENDS 187 

Mrs. Reed and her husband were growing uneasy 
over the matter. 

“What will become of his practice in the town he 
left, when he came here?” she would say. “His 
patients there will find another physician, if he persists 
in remaining away;—-I wish I had taken your advice 
in the first place, John, and sent her to a hospital;—it 
is too late now,—-she cannot be moved, he says.” 

“Your brother is in love with Lina Weiss, despite 
all the suspicions we have, regarding her. You are 
blind not to have noticed it, Mary.” 

“Indeed I have noticed it John,” returned his wife 
tearfully. “We must use strategy to get her away, 
when she is ready to go; leave that to my woman's wit 
—to find a way.” 

It was certainly due to Dr. Northby’s wonderful 
care that Pauline lived.—At the end of che tenth week, 
a wonderful event took place:—A little stranger was 
ushered into this world of conflicting cares and sor¬ 
rows. 

“A fine boy, Lena,” announced the doctor, placing 
the infant in her arms. “Now, you see,—you have 
much to live for.” 

At the end of the two weeks that followed, Dr. 
Northby was forced to go back to his home-town to 
look after the patients whom he had left to care of a 
brother-physician. 

It was the hardest thing he had ever done,—to try 
to say farewell to Lena Weiss. Like everyone else in 
the cottage, he was completely charmed with the baby. 

“If Lena will consent, we will adopt it,” declared 


188 WOODEN WIVES 

Mrs. Reed, adding:—“John is quite as anxious as I 
am.” 

“I intend to ask the same question of Lena,” re¬ 
plied her brother, “only I shall add to the request, 
that I want to adopt Lena as well; that is—I shall ask 
her to—marry me.” 

“Oh, Theodore! Theodore! what can you be think¬ 
ing of! You must be mad to even think of taking 
home a bride—and—a—baby! There would be such 
a scandal—” 

He interrupted her angrily. “As long as I am satis¬ 
fied, it is no one else’s affair!” he retorted. “I love 
her!—that is all there is about it.” 

Pauline refused the young doctor, with tears in her 
eyes. He would not take no for an answer. “I will 
come back in a week for my answer, Lena,” he said, 
gravely. “Let me protect you forever more;—give the 
baby my name.—I—shall never ask you to reveal any¬ 
thing regarding your past, unless you feel disposed, 
sometime in the future, to confide in me;—then you 
will find how my pity and love will shield you.” She 
turned from him with a burst of tears. “Think it 
over carefully and well, Lena,” he said, “remember¬ 
ing I will return in a week from now—for my answer.” 

He kissed both of her little white, fluttering hands, 
fondled the baby affectionately,—and a moment later 
was gone. Pauline watched the stage which bore him 
away,—out of sight,—knowing she would never look 
upon his face again. There would be another stage, 
going the other way,—to connect with the train for 
New York,—passing two hours later. She determined 
to take it. 


THERE IS A DESTINY WHICH SHAPES OUR ENDS 189 

Mrs. Reed did not seem to demur over her announce¬ 
ment—though she did weep over the knowledge they 
must part with the baby.—During that fortnight, it 
had cuddled close to the woman’s childless heart. 

“What have you decided to call the little fellow, 
Lena,” she asked, drying her eyes—and patting his fat 
little cheeks. 

“I shall call him Paul.” This lifted a load from 
Mrs. Heed’s heart. She had feared Lena might be 
tempted to call him Theodore, after the doctor. Much 
as she liked the baby, she would not have brooked that. 
John had expressed the same opinion. 

As Mrs. Reed had surmised, she received half of the 
sum of money that had been pinned so securely by 
Marcelle, in the girl’s waist. 

It must be added that it was with genuine regret, 
she saw Lena and the baby depart. The cottage would 
be lonely without them. 

It was dusk when Pauline, with her child clasped 
close in her arms, reached New York. She meant to 
place the baby in her father’s arms, throw herself on 
his bosom, begging him to love them both,—as he had 
loved her in the old days,—for her dead mother’s 
sake. 

She took a taxi to her old home, dismissing it a few 
doors away. A drizzling rain had begun to fall, but 
she scarcely heeded it. 

The Rae home was one of the New-York suburban 
homes set in spacious grounds. One by one the stars 
had gemmed the blue sky above, only to be covered 
by the thick blanket of storm clouds, presaging the 


190 


WOODEN WIVES 


shower which it was hoped would cool the world on 
this sweltering July night. 

She opened the iron gate; as she expected, Laddy- 
Boy, the great air dale sprang from out of the bushes, 
leaping toward her with a blood-curdling howl issuing 
from his distended jaws. Pauline stood quite still, 
putting out her hand, whispering softly:—“Laddy- 
Boy, don’t you know me!” For an instant the dog 
stood still, regarding her, crouching, for the leap at 
her which he was to make. In that instant, a little 
house-maid whom she had never seen before, flew 
quickly down the path, calling:—“Laddy-Boy! Lad- 
dy-Boy!” dashing forward in the nick of time, as she 
supposed,—to avert a tragedy. 

Instead of struggling to free himself, the dog began 
to bark joyously. Pauline knew he had recognized her. 

“Is Senator Rae within?” inquired Pauline falter- 
ingly, leaning weakly against one of the pillars of the 
post. 

For an instant the maid stared blankly into the 
white face turned so wistfully toward her. 

“Do you not know? Why, you must be a stranger 
hereabouts,—to ask that question,” she made answer. 
* * Senator Rae,—poor old gentleman—is dead. He was 
buried nearly two months ago.” 

For an awful moment the darkness of death seemed 
to enfold Pauline; the world seemed to stand still, and 
her heart to slowly break then and there,—she put out 
her hands blindly, and clasping the baby closer in her 
arms, sunk down on the stone step. 

“Come around to the kitchen and let me get you a 


THERE IS A DESTINY WHICH SHAPES OUR ENDS 191 

glass of water;—or, perhaps you would take a cup of 
tea, warm though the night is—gazing at the white, 
pitiful face raised to her own.—You look faint and 
worn.” 

Pauline shook her head. Words failed her. 

“Is that a little baby in your arms?” queried the 
girl, and without awaiting a response, she went on:— 
“Bring it into the house—out of the rain; it is only a 
shower, you will be welcome to wait inside until it is 
over. Come.” 

She half led, half carried Pauline to the rear of the 
house and into the cool, white tiled kitchen. The rest 
of the servants did not seem to be about. 

“I think I will get you a glass of milk,” she said. 
Everything about the room was exactly the same— 
except the strange face of this kind-hearted little maid. 
Pauline almost expected to see the door leading to the 
hall-way open, and her father come quickly over the 
threshold, his face beaming with love,—holding out his 
arms to her. 

She could fancy she heard him saying:—“You did 
wisest and best to come back to your old father, my 
dear. No matter what the world may say of you in its 
harshness, you will always find a refuge from life’s 
storm on your father’s bosom. ” 

Pauline aroused herself from the stupor stealing over 
her, endeavoring for baby’s sake, t6 drink the cooling 
glass of milk the maid had brought her. Was it true 
that he was—dead—dead? Ah! pitying God! how 
could she realize it. 

“Of course, you haven’t heard the story of the old 


192 


WOODEN WIVES 


Senator’s death, and what caused it, or you would not 
be here calling for him,” said the maid. 

“No—no—I haven’t heard,” faltered Pauline, 
“won’t you tell me?” The girl did not seem to notice 
her agitation, and eagerness. 

“It’s a sad story, ma’am,” she began. “The doctors 
and the neighbors say he died of apoplexy,—but I say 
he died of a broken heart—and it is that will-o’th-wisp 
daughter of his who caused it—and will have to 
answer for it. The old Senator had a beautiful young 
daughter whom he fairly worshipped. His one worry 
in life was to see her safely married, for he was not 
at all sure how she would turn out. He picked out a 
husband for her—a noble gentleman, who, like her 
father, fairly idolized her. 

“She had a lover back;—a dreadful scamp,—every¬ 
thing that was bad. It seems she kept on with her 
old lover after she married. They went together, one 
night to a masked French ball—. While they were 
there the husband received a letter in a woman’s hand¬ 
writing,—though it was disguised,—advising him to go 
and confront them there,—which he did. No one 
knows just how it happened, but she and the 
lover made a get-away, then and there,—eloping to¬ 
gether to this city, on the midnight train. The next 
morning two things had happened—the midnight train 
had been wrecked with a frightful loss of life. Her 
retribution,—death had followed quickly on the heels 
of her escapade. 

“Perhaps I am tiring you with hearing of the old 
Senator’s mad-cap daughter,” said the maid looking 


THERE IS A DESTINY WHICH SHAPES OUR ENDS 193 

anxiously at the white face that was each moment 
growing more ghastly. 

“No—no,—” faltered Pauline, “I—I—am greatly 
interested,—go on.” 

The gossiping maid looked pleased—she was fond of 
telling the story of the romance—which had ended in 
a tragedy,—to anyone who had not heard it. Smooth¬ 
ing her apron, and pouring out a second glass of milk 
for the stranger, she went on glibly:— 

“Of course, the husband, as might well be expected, 
was beside himself with grief—but the morning held 
quite as severe a shock for the poor man. 

“It appears that the papers got hold of the story,— 
and the whole thing came out in print. When the news 
came out of the wreck of the midnight express,—the 
train the elopers took,—and that she had paid the 
penalty of her sin with her life,—he fell to the floor 
like one dead. For a week they expected him to go 
too. His doctor took him away to Europe with him a 
few days later. The husband had resigned as Senator. 
—The papers printed that he never intended to come 
back to these shores where he had had so much tragic 
sorrow. 

“The worst part of it was:—a week or so before 
this affair happened, he had signed over to his flirting 
wife, every penny he had in the world. Over seas, he 
must find work wherever, and as best he can.—To 
finish the calamity, for him, it appeared that on the 
very night of the French ball, the foolish wife signed 
over her fine fortune to her lover:—It was put on file 
bright and early the following—morning. In addition, 


194 


WOODEN WIVES 


she brazenly filed papers for a divorce, from the hus¬ 
band who had been so kind to her;—that went on file 
too. Had she lived she would have gotten it,—for her 
husband would never have put in an appearance to 
contest it. 

“And now for the last of it:— As soon as the old 
Father learned what had happened,—like his son-in- 
law he could not face the disgrace of it;—he shut 
himself up here, refusing to see anyone—except—a 
beautiful young French girl, his daughter’s friend. 

“Nobody knows just how it came about;—no doubt 
he was lonely and craved sympathy, the upshot of the 
affair was:—the old Senator turned around and mar¬ 
ried the French girl; and—to please his beautiful 
young bride,—he,—at her request,—settled the whole 
of his fortune upon her—as his wedding gift to her. 
You see he had no one else to leave it to. 

“The rumor went the rounds that before the old 
Senator married he tried to make restitution to the 
son-in-low for his loss,—but the husband would not 
accept it. Very soon after his marriage, the old Sen¬ 
ator passed away.—Those at his bedside said he called 
piteously for his daughter—forgetting she was no 
more. 

“The young wife did not care a rap. Everyone 
knew, when he passed away, that she did not weep 
a tear—she found herself—a wealthy widow. 

“She sold the house to these people now living in it, 
and threw the fierce old watch dog into the bargain.” 

Pauline could hear no more; she rose quickly to her 
feet, and with a faltering “Thank you,” groped her 
way from the house. 


CHAPTER XIX 


WHEN LIFE’S GOLDEN DREAMS ARE OVER 

“In the dark, our fortunes often meet us; 

If fate be not, then what can we foresee? 

Or how can we avoid it, if it be? 

If by free-will, in our own paths we move, 

How are we bounded by decrees above? 

Whether we move, or whether we are driven— 

If ill ? tis ours; if good, the act of Heaven.” 

Like one in a dream, Panline, holding the baby close 
in her arms, made her way to the Grand Central Rail¬ 
way station. 

"I want to go—as far as I can,—it does not matter 
where, ’ ’ she murmured,—looking piteously at the ticket- 
agent. 

“How would San Francisco suit?” he queried, 
choking back a laugh. 

“As well there as anywhere,” she answered. “How 
soon will the train start?” 

“You are just in time to make it,” he answered, 
taking a second, searching look at Pauline who was 
turning away. 

San Francisco—at last !■—after what seemed to 
Pauline days and days of endless journeying. She 
wondered that the baby had stood it as well as he had. 
She sat down in the waiting-room, trying to think out 
what she was to do now—in the far-west. Counting 
over the few bills she had left, she found she had barely 
enough to last her—a week,—and then—! 

195 


196 


WOODEN WIVES 


One of the cleaning-women of the waiting room came 
up to her, touching her on the arm. “Do you know, 
ma'am you have been sitting here long hours;—your 
baby has been crying—you do not seem to hear;—are 
you—in trouble? If you are the baby's mother, you 
ought to see that it looks—very—ill." 

A cry broke from Pauline's white lips, and she bent 
down covering the little face, and tiny groping hands 
with kisses. Rising weakly to her feet, she inquired of 
the woman if she knew of any clean, respectable place 
where she and the little one could find shelter for the 
night. 

“Yes," the woman knew of just such a place. “A 
dear old body, an aged lace-mender, who lived alone, 
might take her in. As I go from work, I pass her door; 
—I will take you there—and you can see.'' 

Pauline thanked her with tears in her eyes. 

Old Grand-ma Carey looked long and earnestly at 
Pauline and the baby,—ere she decided they might stay. 
It was well they found shelter there,—for, the old lady 
discovered, the baby had a high fever. On hearing 
this,—Pauline was frantic. “Oh, do not tell me he is 
ill unto death!'' she sobbed wildly. ‘ ‘ Surely God would 
not take him from me!—He is all I have in this great 
cruel world to love—and—cling to. I must send for a 
doctor quickly." 

Grand-ma Carey shook her head. “I can bring the 
little fellow around if any-one can," she asserted—“I 
have had much experience." Then followed heroic 
nursing night and day, until at length Grand-ma de¬ 
clared the crisis past—and he would now be on the 


WHEN LIFE’S GOLDEN DREAMS ARE OVER 197 

'T i 

mend. At this juncture, Pauline tearfully disclosed to 
her, that her last penny had been used,—and she must 
find work somewhere, at something,—and at once. 

“Try one of the big stores,” suggested grand-ma. 
“Your face is so sweet,—and you are so genteel in 
appearance,—they ought to be very glad to engage 
you.” Pauline procured employment in the large em¬ 
porium to which Grand-ma Carey had directed her,— 
with little difficulty. She quickly learned, however, 
why it was that the great emporium never kept a clerk, 
or model longer than a week. The proprietor had a 
very jealous wife; who had a mortal dread of young 
and beautiful women. When it was discovered that 
Lena Weis, as she still called herself,—had a little child 
at Grand-ma Carey’s, and the husband of the young 
woman appeared to be non-est, the proprietor’s wife 
soon made it plain to Lena,—she must look elsewhere 
for a position.—She went the rounds of the stores, one 
after the other,—in every place finding her fair face a 
detriment in endeavoring to hold a position. Next she 
tried the factories, with the same result. The world 
of women seemed to band themselves against her,—to 
prevent her from earning bread for herself and baby. 

Grand-ma Carey thought long and earnestly over the 
matter, coming at last to the conclusion that there was 
work enough in the lace-mending business—for two.— 
Her fingers were not as nimble as they used to be,— 
and her eyesight failing. She could not make as much 
as a younger woman could. 

Lena seized upon the idea of helping her, with in¬ 
tense joy. “I will work early and late,” she declared. 


198 


WOODEN WIVES 


“For a change, you can attend to the home duties, and 
I will ply the needle. ” This arrangement was highly 
satisfactory to the old lady. As the days wore on, baby 
learned to creep, then to walk, and prattle—the young 
mother watching him with fond eyes. 

Grand-ma Carey would have been pleased to find out 
Lena’s history, but the girl never alluded to her past. 
The only time she spoke of the baby’s father, was when 
Grand-ma, on one occasion, watching him, said:—“He 
has your hair and blue eyes; otherwise, he probably re¬ 
sembles his father.” 

“Yes, baby Paul resembles his father—very much,” 
she assented musingly—then she quickly turned the con¬ 
versation into another channel. 

There was one thing that worried Grand-ma Carey, 
and that was, Lena wore no wedding ring;—of course, 
everywhere she had worked, they must have noticed its 
omission from her hand,—commenting upon it most un¬ 
kindly. 

By dint of much saving, Grand-ma bought a ring, for 
Lena, requesting her to wear it, to stop gossip. 

“I had one—just like this—but I lost it,” the girl 
said; “my hand was—badly crushed;—that caused it to 
slip off unnoticed.—Yes, I will wear this ring you have 
so kindly provided for me;—I—am grateful to you for 
reminding me—it is my duty to little Paul, to do so.” 

But tim$ never lingers with the present, but rushes 
us pell-mell onward through the years. Seven birth¬ 
days of little Paul’s had converted the puny babe into 
a rollicking youngster, dearer than anything the wide 
world held to his mother,—and the idol of Grand-ma 


WHEN LIFE’S GOLDEN DREAMS ARE OVER 199 

Carey. The poor old soul was now too feeble to ply her 
needle; she would have had to have gone to the poor- 
house, had not Pauline took upon her own shoulders, the 
burden of support of the three of them. 

“Mumzy,” cried little Paul coming in excitedly from 
school, one day:—“All the other chaps are selling news¬ 
papers, an’ gettin’ rich!—I want to sell papers too. 
Please, Muzzy, do let me.” His kisses, tears, and en¬ 
treaties at last conquered. His mother gave a reluct¬ 
ant consent, for it was against her will. 

On the day the boy first began selling papers, he got 
his first inkling of what rubbing elbows with the rough 
street gamins meant. 

Little Paul started out bravely enough,—coming home 
an hour later so torn, battered, and mud-splashed, his 
mother cried out in terror, inquiring what had hap¬ 
pened. 

“Oh, nothing, but I’ve had three fights a’ready,” he 
declared, standing up for his mother to wips the mud 
from his face. “I licked Micky O’Grady, for grabbing 
my papers, and Timmy Eyan for trying to take my— 
pennies,—an—th’ other boy, I forget his name, for 
laughing at me an’ tryin’ t’ sic th’ other fellers on me. 
I—beat ’em, Muzzy.” 

“Oh! oh! you shall never go out selling papers 
again!” sobbed his mother; “I will work twice as hard, 
my darling boy,—to keep you from it. ’ ’ 

Little Paul threw up his head proudly, exclaiming:— 
“I’m no coward, Muzzy. If a boy hits at me, I’ll hit 
back, no matter how big he is.” 

“You’ll have to let the lad out among other boys, 


200 


WOODEN WIVES 


dear,” decided Granny. ‘‘He must learn the lesson of 
—defending himself, Lena.” 

“He might become coarse, and brutal in the experi¬ 
ment, like so many of the children in this tenement;—I 
—could not endure that.” 

During the days that followed, little Paul was fully 
initiated in the seamy side of life. Almost every day 
he met with some kind of an encounter. 

He made Grand-ma Carey his confidante, regarding 
all that took place, begging her not to tell his mother. 

There was another matter over which little Paul was 
greatly disturbed, and that was, his golden curls. 

‘ ‘ They make fun of me, and say they are only worn by 
girls, and that I ought to wear skirts,” he sobbed. 

Lena caught him in her arms and crushed him close 
to her heart. “Mother loves your golden curls, Paul,” 
she murmured. “Let me keep my little bpy, a child— 
just a little while longer—then I will consent to your 
having them cut off.—Just a little longer, Paul, dear.” 

For the first time in his life, she saw that he cried 
himself to—sleep;—His mother never dreamed of the 
torture he received at the hands of the other boys on 
account of them. It was brought home to her with cruel 
force, when he came home to her one day, with one half 
of his golden curls shorn from his head. 

“All the boys got together, some of them held me, 
while the others did it—with a knife,—strewing them 
all over the alley, Muzzy. ’ * 

While he slept, his mother cut from his head the 
balance of the golden curls; wrapped them in a bit of 
paper, kissed them and placed them in her bosom;— 


WHEN LIFE’S GOLDEN DREAMS ARE OVER 201 

she almost felt she was parting from baby—Paul,— 
forever. 

It soothed her heartache to see how overjoyed he 
was when he woke up and discovered the offending 
ringlets were gone. 

“Now I can be a cross-sweep, and make lots of pen¬ 
nies, Muzzy, when I am not selling papers, ’ 9 he declared, 
dancing around the room. “It’ll snow tomorrow, and— 
I will sweep the crossings for the fine ladies and the 
nice men, an’ I’ll bring every penny home to you, 
Muzzy.” 

A—cross-sweep! her boy—a cross-sweep! She won¬ 
dered dully what the proud old Senator Rae would have 
said, had he but known his grandson—was—a—cross¬ 
sweep,—holding out his hand,—from his little torn 
jacket, past all mending,—soliciting pennies from the 
passersby. 

The old life, and its luxuries seemed like a dream to 
her. Once in a while she found herself thinking of 
Daniel Weslow—wondering if he were living—or—dead. 
She knew that he believed she had perished in the wreck 
of the Washington midnight express,—and was satisfied 
to have it so. 

He did not know of the existence of little Paul;—she 
wondered what he would say,—or do—if he were to see 
him. 

The fear that he might desire to wrest the child from 
her, filled her with the gravest terror, and caused her to 
resolve, over and over again that he must never know of 
him. 

At the very moment Paul’s mother was making this 


202 


WOODEN WIVES 


resolve, Marcelle Rae, off in New York, was carelessly- 
scanning the morning paper, over her cocoa and rolls. 
Suddenly the cup fell from her hand with a crash, and 
she sprang excitedly to her feet. The item which 
riveted her attention was an account of Daniel Weslow. 
She read it through again and again. It referred to 
Weslow as a one-time United States Senator who had, 
seven years ago, gone abroad penniless;—of his knock¬ 
ing about the old world for the following five years,— 
then shouldering his pick and spade like an ordinary 
day laborer, he had joined the rush whose objective 
point was the Klondike. He had staked out a claim 
upon which gold had been found. In the following two 
years he had piled up a collossal fortune,—and was 
sailing from China that day, for San Francisco, where 
he intended to remain a few weeks to promote some im¬ 
portant mining deals,—then return to the Klondike. ’ ’ 

“Patience finds its own reward,’’ thought Marcelle. 
“I have traveled the length and breadth of Europe to 
locate him, but not a trace could be found. 

She looked in her long pier glass; I am more beautiful 
than ever,” she murmured, satisfied with the reflection 
she saw there. “I will go at once to San Francisco. 
He will believe the meeting is purely accidental. I 
have never cared for any other man. I will fascinate 
and wed Daniel Weslow if it lies within human power.” 

A telegram was soon flashing over the wires to the 
hotel at which the item stated Weslow was to stop,— 
asking that a suite of the very best rooms be reserved 
for Mrs. Ex-Senator Rae, and maid. 

“I will be thrown in contact with him constantly,” 


WHEN LIFE'S GOLDEN DREAMS ARE OVER 203 

she mused, “and, with an opportunity of that kind, any 
woman ought to fascinate, and wed any man she sets 
her cap for.” As a wealthy young widow, Marcelle 
had refused several really brilliant offers—from the 
standpoint of wealth. 

“I would rather marry Daniel Weslow, if he hadn’t 
a second shirt to his back,” she mused, smiling back at 
the superb reflection in the glass. 

At that moment, on ship-board, Daniel Weslow was 
standing on the deck, looking far out at sea. “Back to 
my native land—and no one there to bid me—welcome; 
—but I must not think of these things.” Wheeling 
about, he was just about to enter the cabin, when he 
met the first-mate in the passage-way. 

“Just a word with you, Mr. Weslow,” he said, “I 
have learned there are card-sharps aboard—I heard 
them—discussing—You. ’ ’ 

Weslow laughed;—“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, 
and my senses about me,—thanking you for the tip. ’ ’ 

As the mate disappeared, a heavy-set dark bearded 
man passed him on his way to the deck. 

Weslow gave him but a casual glance;—not so the 
other man;—he gave Weslow a glance of keen scrutiny, 
chuckling under his breath: “I knew Weslow would 
not recognize me;—my own mother did not know me. 
I would defy any one to discover in this bronzed and 
bearded stocky man,—the dapper, immaculate dandy— 
Hugh Boyd of seven years ago. Weslow has struck it 
rich,—and prospered;—while I have gotten rid of the 
handsome fortune I got hold of. I still have another 


204 


WOODEN WIVES 


trump card to play, then I may be able to cry quits 
with Weslow.” 

Although Daniel had appeared to give the man but a 
casual glance,—in that one instantaneous meeting of 
their eyes, it occurred to him he had seen the man some¬ 
where before,—but where, he could not tell. On board 
th vessel, the bearded stranger was known as Dunn,—a 
cattle man, hailing from Waco, Texas. 

Daniel was not surprised to find this man, and two 
companions playing poker in the cabin the following 
night. He was invited to take a hand. At first he 
made up his mind to refuse;—on second thought he 
concluded to comply, seating himself on the opposite 
side of the table from Dunn. Without appearing to do 
so, Daniel watched the game much more closely than 
any one gathered about the board supposed. 

He knew he had been marked as—a victim. 4 ‘Let the 
best man win,” he announced laconically as he reached 
out and took the cards, shuffling them to deal. 

Dunn watched him breathlessly, he saw by the way 
he handled the cards, Weslow was no novice at poker. 
His accomplices who sat about the table, saw that too,— 
but what could a lone man do against the brace of them. 

Every man at the table knew Weslow carried a large 
sum of money upon his person, and they meant that he 
should leave it with them. 


CHAPTER XX 


CONSPIRACY AT SEA 

t{ Where evil may be done, ’tis right to ponder; 

Where only suffer’d know, the shortest pause 
Is much too long.” 

The game of poker moved along at a rapid pace; 
Weslow was winning at first, as they intended he 
should. Then Dunn concluded the occasion was ripe 
for action in the other direction. It was Dunn’s deal. 
—The man at Weslow’s right, made a racy remark, 
which Weslow knew quite well was for the purpose of 
detracting his attention for an instant. An instant 
was quite long enough for Dunn, the cleverest man at 
legerdemain in any country as his companions well 
knew, from much experience. 

Quickly as he manipulated the cards, Weslow saw a 
card, disappear like a flash, up his sleeve.—Like a 
whirlwind he was on his feet;—the men saw, to their 
amazement, that he was armed to the teeth. 

‘Hip with your hands, and onto your feet!” he com¬ 
manded in a voice that told them the futility of dis¬ 
obeying. “Now file backward out of that door onto 
the deck, and to the rails,” was the next order. “Now 
for the third and last!” he shouted grimly, covering 
them with his weapons.—“Now, a backward hand¬ 
spring—everyone of you—into the water;—after you 
get a cooling off, it’s up to th’ captain as to whether 
he takes you back on ship-board again.—Over with you 
—without an instant’s hesitation.” A bullet whizzing 
205 


206 


WOODEN WIVES 


over their heads assured them they must obey in¬ 
stantly, if their lives meant anything to them. There 
was a unanimous splash,—two of them had obeyed 
orders—the third,—Dunn of the bushy whiskers, sud¬ 
denly sprung at Weslow, dealing him a savage blow 
on the wrist, knocking the weapon from his right- 
hand. Then followed the fiercest, silent, savage battle 
that was ever waged on land or sea. 

Seizing an instant’s advantage, Dunn grasped the 
roll of bills in his adversary’s pocket, thrusting them 
into his bosom. 

In that instant, Weslow had grabbed the man by his 
beard—when lo!—it came off in his hand. In that 
instantaneous glance at his opponent, Daniel recog¬ 
nized the wretch who had wrecked his life—Hugh 
Boyd. 

He sprang at him with mighty rage shouting hoar¬ 
sely:—“In to the death —villain! dastard!” 

Boyd, knowing he could not stand up under further 
punishment, took another tack. In less time than 
Daniel could fully comprehend what had happened, 
Boyd had cleared the rail leaping into the sea. 

As Weslow sprang to the rail, he saw what escaped 
his attention before,—a tug following in the wake of 
the steamer,—toward which Boyd struck out. Weslow 
took aim, but as quickly dropped his weapon.—He 
could not take advantage of even his deadliest foe,— 
if he was not in a position to defend himself. 

He saw the tug pick up the three men, then, quickly 
turn about, making for the Chinese coast. He turned 
and walked slowly to his stateroom; the bitterness of 


CONSPIRACY AT SEA 


207 


death in his heart. He felt that chance had played 
him a mean trick in giving him the opportunity to 
meet the despoiler of his home, slaying him in combat, 
—or, meet death himself by the hand of his foe. 

The disappearance of the gamblers produced no sur¬ 
prise on ship-board. “That’s part of their game—to 
fleece some victim, then make a get-away on a tug 
which has been following for the purpose of picking 
them up,” remarked one of the sailors. 

In counting his cash, Daniel found he had much 
more than he had started in with. His first impulse 
was to heave it overboard as unlucky money,—upon 
second thought, he handed it over to the Captain for 
the Seamen’s Home, in America. 

Daniel Weslow was very thoughtful the remainder 
of the voyage.—He had supposed Boyd had perished 
with Pauline in the wreck of the midnight Washington 
Express.—His name was not among the list accounted 
for.—He had escaped death,—could it have been pos¬ 
sible that Pauline had also escaped? The thought un¬ 
nerved him. He must find that out. There was but 
one way:—go back by way of China, set watchers on 
every vessel leaving the Chinese Port,—find Boyd, if 
money could accomplish it,—and force from him the 
truth,—whether Pauline has escaped,—or—if she had 
perished in the wreck. 

Boyd should answer to him with his life for leading 
hapless Pauline astray. 

It was in no enviable frame of mind Daniel Weslow 
landed in San Francisco. There were a score of taxis 
around the dock, but, as the morning was fine, he 


208 


WOODEN WIVES 


chose to walk. He had hardly proceeded a block ere 
he became conscious of a small lad behind him, en¬ 
deavoring to overtake him. Turning his head slightly, 
he observed a diminutive bit of humanity with a half 
dozen papers under his arm. 

4 'Paper, mister!” piped the boy eagerly. Weslow 
shook his head. 

To his surprise the lad flung himself down on the 
pavement, his feet in the gutter, and began to cry. 

Weslow saw; stopped short, and retraced his steps, 
saying: "I believe I do want the paper, my lad; here’s 
a quarter,—keep the change.” 

The smile of joy that overspread the little face, 
touched strangely, a chord in Weslow’s heart. Beneath 
all the dirt upon it, he saw that the lad must have a 
very comely face. "Why were you crying, boy,” he 
queried,—that is not manly, you know, to give way to 
tears because you have not sold all your papers.” 

A wonderful pair of large blue eyes were upturned 
to him, and the youngster’s lips quivered, as he an¬ 
swered:—"We couldn’t—eat—unless—I sell th’ papers. 
—That’s what Granny told Muzzy today.” 

"Are you —hungry, child?” asked Weslow laying a 
kindly hand on the little one’s shoulder. "Tell me, if 
you are;—here is an eating place, I will take you in to 
fill up.” 

The little fellow sprung to his feet with alacrity, gasp¬ 
ing, chokingly. "Muzzy’s sick, an’ we didn’t have- 
nothing—today, mister. ’ ’ 

"Where do you live;—is it far from her, lad?” 

"Just around the corner, in Crow Alley, mister.” 


CONSPIRACY AT SEA 


209 


4 ‘Come in to this restaurant while they are filling a 
basket for you to take home with you,—you shall eat— 
with me.” 

The child’s delight over the prospect—brought a tear 
to Weslow’s eyes. The proprietor of the handsome cafe 
was none too well pleased to see the ragged urchin 
brought into his place. 

“We want the best you can get up, regardless of 
price!” said Weslow in a voice which warned he would 
brook no interference in his apparent act of charity, or 
their refusal to serve the urchin. 

The proprietor had just been reading of a multi¬ 
millionaire, a Mr. Daniel Weslow of the Klondike, who 
was expected to arrive by the Hong-Kong, which had 
just docked;—and made a shrewd guess that the gentle¬ 
man standing before him, was certainly he,—for he 
fitted the description of him, but, to make assurance 
doubly sure, he queried blandly:— 

“Mr. Daniel Weslow, are you not—to whom I have 
the pleasure of speaking?” 

Weslow bowed. “Show the gentleman—and—the— 
lad—to our best table;—take off the—RESERVED— 
card.” The waiter complied with alacrity. 

“I guess you could eat better, and more if your face 
and hands were clean, ’ ’ remarked Daniel, and beckoning 
the waiter back, he tossed him a bill saying, “Just see 
that the boy’s face and hands get attention, will you?” 

“Oh, certainly, with pleasure, sir!” gasped the man, 
amazed at the amount of the bill which had been flung 
at him, adding, “come along, dear little boy, “the gen¬ 
tleman will see how fine I will return you to him.” 


210 


WOODEN WIVES 


‘ 1 Oh, I wont go with him!—he—he—would beat me! ’ 9 
exclaimed the boy in terror, clinging convulsively to the 
hand of his new friend. 

“What a strange notion,’’ murmured the waiter 
flushing, “I will be very kind indeed to you, my lad,” 
—you may trust me.” 

Little Paul looked at him with dilated eyes; he recog¬ 
nized the man as the one who always chased him if he 
stopped even a moment to look wistfully in at the win¬ 
dow which contained fine chicken, big ripe tomatoes, 
strawberries, and tempting pies. If by chance he was 
not noticed standing there, he had the opportunity of 
saying to himself:—“If I was rich I’d have a piece of 
that pie, and maybe a berry or two;—th’ rest I’d take 
home to Muzzy an’ Granny, an’ I would—” 

He rarely got further than that without being chased. 
On two occasions, this very same waiter had thrown 
water on him, threatening if he ever caught hold of him, 
he’d make mince-meat of him. 

No wonder little Paul was suspicious of his sudden 
friendliness. 

“If you thought it would please me—would you go 
with him?” asked Weslow gently as he patted the little 
soiled hands of the boy. 

With big tears standing in his eyes, the little lad 
then answered:—“I’d do anything you wanted me to 

do, mister—even if you wanted me to get a lickin’_ 

from him.” 

At that hour there were few patrons in the place, 
none in that choice part of the restaurant in which they 
were seated. 


CONSPIRACY AT SEA 


211 


Throwing the waiter another bill of equal amount, 
Weslow said very quietly:—“Bring me a wet towel, 
soaped at one end—and turn your back.” 

This the waiter fetched with alacrity, and Weslow, 
standing the lad between his knees, had the dirt off in a 
twinkling. 

“My, what a transformation!” he exclaimed, lifting 
the lad into his seat—why, you are the prettiest little 
one I ever saw, I believe. How proud your daddy must 
be of you.” 

“I never had a Daddy,” answered the boy soberly, 
“an’ that’s what th’—children always tease me about! 
They all have daddies—every one of ’em ’cept me.” 

Weslow looked long and earnestly into the wistful, 
sad little face,—then out of the window,—thinking:— 
How cruel it was to bring a little one into the world, in 
such a case. Instantly he formed a most intense dislike 
to the Muzzy the spoke of so fondly. 

He learned that the same waiter knew where the lad 
lived. 

Ordering a large basket packed with the foods he 
selected from the menu he saw to it that they were 
taken around there without delay. 

He could not have dined until that had been at¬ 
tended to. He also sent the message to his mother, or 
grand-ma, that little Paul would be home shortly and 
explain the meaning of it. 

It delighted Weslow beyond words to see the hungry 
little urchin pitch into the food. To his surprise, he 
saw that the boy, poor as his folks must be—had table 
manners, using his knife, fork, and spoon correctly. 


212 


WOODEN WIVES 


In the midst of his meal little Paul stopped short, 
beginning to sob. 

“Oh, I must not eat all on my plate!” he faltered. 
“Please, can’t I do the rest of it up—and take it home 
to Muzzy—and Grand-ma?” 

He was pacified only upon hearing just such nice 
food had already been sent around to his mother and 
Grand-ma. 

Weslow was beginning to grow frightened, he was 
stowing away so much: 

“I am never going to eat again, in all my life,” he 
announced solemnly laying down his knife and fork 
and smiling up at his new-found-friend. 

“I shall be in town a month,” said Weslow, caress¬ 
ing the little hand he held at parting,—“any time you 
come across me, I’ll take you in this place, or one like 
it,—and give you as good a feed as you have had to¬ 
day.” 

To his astonishment, the boy reached up his arms 
and clasped them about his neck, holding up his 
childish lips for a kiss, saying, “I wouldn’t want to 
live in this town Mister, if you went away.” 

“Why!” asked Weslow, bending down and kissing 
the boy. 

“Cause,—I love you! Love you next to Muzzy an’ 
Grand-ma!” he whispered. 

The words from those childish lips, the touch of the 
baby lips, the caressing touch of those mites of hands, 
thrilled Daniel Weslow’s heart to the core;—thrilled 
it as it had never thrilled before in all the long years 


CONSPIRACY AT SEA 213 

of his life;—those years so fraught with sorrow and 
pain. 

Catching the little form up in his arms, he crushed 
him to his bosom, murmuring brokenly:—“God bless 
you, little lad.—Would to God I could have known the 
joy of having a little boy like you—to love—and love 
me!” 

He put the boy down gently, and watched him as 
he scampered away, and was lost to sight around the 
nearest corner. 

A sigh broke from his lips as he turned, slowly, 
thoughtfully, and made his way to his hotel. The sen¬ 
sation of the touch of the boy’s lips, and little hands 
lingered with him. At the hotel, the clerk recognized 
the name when he registered, and the finest suite of 
rooms in the spacious hotel were placed at his disposal, 
—overlooking the water, as he desired. 

As Weslow was about to enter the elevator, a beauti¬ 
ful young woman stepped from it. One glance, and an 
exclamation of great surprise broke from her lips.— 
“Mr. Daniel Weslow!” she exclaimed, holding out her 
hand. 

The recognition was mutual. “Mrs. Rae!” he re¬ 
turned. 

“Do let us sit down in the lobby and chat a few 
moments! ’ ’ she said. “ I do not know when I have met 
a person I am so glad to see.” 

He could not refuse to follow her to the lobby, place a 
seat for her, taking an adjacent one. He saw at once 
that the French girl who had wedded Senator Rae a 


214 


WOODEN WIVES 


few years before, had blossomed into a wonderfully 
beautiful woman. 

“I said—Mrs. Rae,” he remarked gallantly, “but I 
should be surprised—if you had not changed your name 
since;—indeed, I cannot understand why you are still— 
the Senator’s widow.” 

He saw a bright flush suffuse the olive cheek, her eyes 
dropped, and she answered in a low voice:—“If love 
should ever come to me;—a real love this time,—who 
knows but what I might consider marrying again.” 

“You are still young, and more attractive than ever, 
I should say, and the life of a woman, widowed, must 
be lonely for you.” 

“Oh, it is, it is,” murmured Marcelle, putting a bit 
of a filmy lace handkerchief to her eyes. “It is so com¬ 
forting to meet one who realizes that.” 

“What are you doing away off here in San Fran¬ 
cisco!” he inquired, anxious to change the subject,— 
it was becoming too personal. 

“I just came out to escape the rigors of a winter in 
the east; I shall remain here a few weeks,—and then go 
abroad—I haven’t decided exactly where yet. How 
long do you remain here!” 

“That depends upon the business which brings me 
here;—perhaps three weeks, possibly twice as long; my 
movements are uncertain.” 

“I am so delighted to hear you will be here quite as 
long as I shall,” she murmured. “May I hope we shall 
see much of each other,—since we are both stopping at 
this hotel?” 

“My business will not afford me much leisure, I fear, 


CONSPIRACY AT SEA 215 

but, if I can be of any service to you, to show you about, 
—I shall be pleased to do so.” 

He offered the suggestion, becauce he felt that he was 
in duty bound to do so,—she had been so closely con¬ 
nected—with his unhappy past. 

* ‘ Thank you so much! I should be so grateful if you 
would spare me a little of your time to escort me around 
a bit. I never dreamed I should meet any one I ever 
knew here. I—I—was—so—delighted—when I saw— 
you!” 



CHAPTER XXI 


FATE PUSHES THE BUTTON,—OPPORTUNITY FINISHES 
THE JOB 

11 They say our hands may grasp but joys destroyed. 

Youth has its dreams, and middle-age an aching void, 

Whose dead sea-fruit long, long ago has cloyed, 

Whose might with wild, tempestuous storms is rife 

And yet—a little hope can brighten life.” 

Meeting the beautiful French woman again, was a 
matter of no importance to Daniel Weslow. An hour 
after leaving her, he had forgotten her. During the 
following week, she was quite in evidence; he could 
not turn a corner, in the most unexpected of places, 
without coming face to face with her—of course, he 
felt in duty bound to walk back to the hotel with her. 

She raved over two plays which were to be brought 
out at the theatres within the course of the week; 
there was nothing for it but to invite her to go. She 
held him to his word of getting an automobile to show 
her the sights of the wonderful city of the golden 
west. 

He could not help but notice what a confiding crea¬ 
ture she was, and how much she depended upon him. 
44 We are both—so lonely,” she sighed, as they were 
riding slowly past the great ocean front, one day. 
“How can I ever let you go out of my life again, oh, 
friend—whose friendship means so much to poor me!” 

He looked at her, and was surprised to find that her 
216 


FATE PUSHES THE BUTTON 217 

long, dark, curling lashes were heavy with unshed 
tears. 

“Does my friendship mean all that to you?” he 
asked, surprisedly. She nodded her head, whispering 
below her breath,—but loud enough for him to catch 
the slowly sobbed out words:—“More than you will 
ever know!” 

Daniel Weslow felt exceedingly uncomfortable. He 
was an honest man, unused to subterfuges; if a woman 
said a thing, it never occurred to him to doubt but 
what she meant it in all earnestness. 

“The best of friends must part!” he remarked; but 
he got no further. “On the day you bid me farewell 
—to go back to your life in the Klondike—you will 
take the light of the world with you,” she whispered, 
hesitatingly, and in a faltering voice. 

“Just what do you mean?” queried Daniel, bluntly. 
“Surely I have not made it so pleasant this past week 
for you that you will regret my going!” 

Marcelle hid her face in her perfumed lace handker¬ 
chief. Looking down at her in dismay, Daniel wished 
he were anywhere but in the automobile beside her; 
he saw no chance of making a get-away. They were 
quite a way from the city; it would be an hour’s ride, 
or more, to get her back to the hotel. Laying one 
hand lightly, timidly, on his arm, she said:— 

“Do not think less of me for being truthful, Mr. 
Weslow,—but—this is the first week, in all my entire 
life,—that I have been—happy;—yes,—happy—and— 
and—known how joyous—and satisfied life can be 
come to a woman—when she has a strong arm to lean 


218 


WOODEN WIVES 


upon; a good man by her side to shield her from the 
world’s storms and dangers. I have looked forward 
to these outings with you, and the hours we—will pass 
together with a joy—almost unbelievable.” 

He looked greatly distressed, and not a little em¬ 
barrassed; turning to her he said gravely, “ Believe me 
when I say I had no intention of arousing such a sen¬ 
timent in your heart, Mrs. Rae;—I meant to extend— 
just a courtesy—in offering to see you about, during 
my stay here; if you attributed my words or actions 
to any deeper interest, I can only say that I am very 
—very—sorry.” 

“It is too late to be sorry—when the mischief has 
been done;—you must have known away back in the 
past—I struggled hard not to—care for you—but—it 
was useless. You remember I had your picture in my 
room—always; I treasured it more than any other 
earthly—possession;—my poor heart had gone out to 
you.” 

He looked at her—askanse. Yes, he did remember 
how she had his photograph in every room—his only, 
but attached no importance to that. 

Suddenly he turned upon her reprovingly. 

“I cannot realize that any woman should entertain 
any feeling save friendship for a man whom she knew 
to be married—you would not be guilty of such un¬ 
womanliness, Mrs. Rae?” 

She interrupted him quickly, “Do not wrong me, 
Mr. Weslow, you were a single man when first I met you, 
and you won my heart—through my—gratitude. You 
recollect a young girl whom you rendered a service, 


FATE PUSHES THE BUTTON 


219 


one evening, on the streets of Paris. I—am—that— 
girl. You left me without giving your name—or— 
address, other than you were an American from the 
Golden West. I could not forget you; I came to this 
country with one great hope in my heart—that Fate 
would bring us together. I arrived here, only to find 
—you had—just wedded another. Fate was cruel to 
me. Now—we meet again,—and—you are single,— 
as am jl,-” 

She stopped short; he could not pretend that he did 
not understand what she meant to convey,—that he 
should ask her to become his wife. 

“I am amazed, dumbfounded! I hardly know what 
to say to you,” he said. * 1 You know, as no one else 
does, the full story of my unhappy past. I loved my 
Pauline as few men love; her loss broke my heart. I 
will never love again, I could not—my heart lies 
withered in my bosom.” 

“But, if you could make another human being su¬ 
premely happy, with your presence,—would it not be 
worth your while-” 

“I think we had better talk plainly, Marcelle,” he 
said. “You are giving me to understand that you 
have loved me from the first time we met; that is not 
unnatural,—under the circumstances that happened at 
the time. When you found me married,—you hid 
your sentiments in your own bosom, not even letting 
me guess such a state of affairs.” She nodded, and 
he resumed, “And now, after meeting again, years 
later, and being thrown much together,—you believe 
the old infatuation for me is taking possession of you, 



220 


WOODEN WIVES 


and you are cherishing hopes that we might—marry. 
Is not this the way matters stand—in your mind?” 

Marcelle burst into tears, dropping her head on his 
shoulder. 

“Yes, that is the way of it, Daniel dear,” she mur¬ 
mured. 

For a long time he remained silent;—so long that 
she was in great fear they would reach the hotel be¬ 
fore the matter was settled. 

Then he turned to her slowly, solemnly. 

“I know only too well what it is to be the victim 
of unrequited love,” he said, more to himself than to 
her. “I therefore pity from the bottom of my heart, 
any one who has known that sorrow. 

“My life is a blasted one, Mrs. Rae,—and I have no 
affection to offer, but, if you think you will be con¬ 
tented with that, and are sure you would care to be 
Mrs. Winslow, I do not know but what it could be 
arranged.” 

“Oh, Daniel, I accept you, and believe me when I 
tell you that in becoming your wife, you will make me 
the happiest woman the world holds. You have raised 
me in this moment from the depths of misery and lone¬ 
liness, to a heaven on earth of Joyousness.” 

He was sorry the next instant after he had uttered 
the words, but there was no help for it now. He was 
now betrothed to the beautiful woman at his side. He 
could not escape; he felt that she had set a silken net 
for him, and he had blundered right into it, and she 
had drawn the cords tightly about him. He wished in 
that moment that he could warn all men of the dan- 


PATE PUSHES THE BUTTON 


221 


ger of taking lonely rides with fascinating women— 
especially widows, who had matrimonial designs upon 
them. The shrewdest man in the world is no match 
for such a woman. 

They were betrothed, with the marriage to take 
place when his business was finished there, and he was 
ready to go back to the Klondike;—yet,—despite 
this, Marcelle saw less of Daniel than she did before. 
Each day she made especial toilettes to go down to 
the grand dining room for luncheon, expecting tb see 
him, but he was never there. 

“Where do you get your luncheons, Daniel V* she 
queried curiously at length, to which he replied, 
“Wherever I happen to be.” This was true as far as 
it went; he did not think it worth while to inform her 
that he generally managed to be around a restaurant 
down town about noon, where he ran across a certain 
little cross-sweep who never missed an invitation to 
“feed with him.” 

On two occasions Marcelle had come across Daniel 
talking to the boy on the street, and again, to her sur¬ 
prise, the same dirty little urchin was seated beside 
him on a bench in the park. 

One of the ladies who had made Marcelle’s acquaint¬ 
ance in the hotel, remarked to her, “I often see Mr. 
Weslow with that lad; he seems greatly interested in 
him. Marcelle scarcely knew why, but she found her¬ 
self growing insanely jealous of the cross-sweep. 

A second time she came across them sitting in the 
park; she passed closely behind them, but Daniel did 
not even see her. 


222 


WOODEN WIVES 


“Let’s play yon are my daddy, and I am yonr little 
boy,” the lad was saying,—to which nonsense Daniel 
replied hilariously :—■ 1 De-lighted! ’ ’ 

“An’ you must come to my house, and tell Muzzy 

that I am your little boy as well as her’s an-” 

Marcelle restrained herself by the greatest effort 
from stepping forward and giving the audacious child 
a sound boxing on the ears. 

Appearing suddenly before them, she said sweetly 
to Daniel, “Ah, what a glorious afternoon it is; we 
will have a stroll through this beautiful park.” 
Daniel arose at once, agreeing, exclaiming, “Good-bye 
for today, my little man.” The child did not answer, 
much to Daniel’s surprise, for he had always found 
him a great little chatter-box. 

The truth was, as Daniel momentarily turned his 
back, and she was sure of not being detected, Mar¬ 
celle gave the lad such a scowl of rage, fairly grind¬ 
ing her teeth at him, that the boy shrank back in ab¬ 
ject terror, fleeing in fright, as fast as his little legs 
could carry him, but stopping at a safe distance now 
and then to look back at them. 

“What a tough looking youngster! He looks as 
though he might be one of the young pick-pockets 
I’ve been reading about, who infest this city,” re¬ 
marked Marcelle, carelessly. 

To her surprise Daniel took it up with alacrity. 
“I do not agree with you, Marcelle; that’s as fine a 
little fellow as I ever set eyes on; you do not know 
what a nice chap he really is;—quite a character; 
it’s a pity Dickens did not run across him—he would 
have made him famous,—just as sure as you live.” 


FATE PUSHES THE BUTTON 


223 


“I do not believe he is anywhere as young as you 
think; no doubt he is years older, and as shrewd as a 
fox; didn’t you hear him try to inveigle you to where 
his mother was?—she makes the balls, and the boy 
fires ’em.” 

Daniel Weslow laughed long and loud. “I know an 
innocent boy when I talk to one,” he declared, “and 
that youngster is as sweet and free from guile as a 
babe in a nursery.” 

“He has played upon your sympathies, but I see 
through him, and I tell you to watch out for him, 
Daniel,” insisted Marcelle. 

“All right!” he answered to mollify her, but that 
did not change in the least his good opinion of the 
little lad whom he thought the more of, every time he 
saw, or spoke to him. During the next few days he 
saw little of the youngster at close quarters,—Daniel 
was surprised at himself that he missed the boy’s com¬ 
pany as much as he did. 

He knew, however, that little Paul was close at his 
heels, for, go where he would, be talking or walking 
with whom he might,—if he chanced to look around 
suddenly, he saw the boy peeping at him from around 
the nearest corner,—suddenly disappearing when he 
found he had been discovered. 

“The lad has certainly taken to me,” he mused, 
more pleased than otherwise, that he had found the 
boy always hovering near him. 

There was one thing upon which he had made up his 
mind, and that was to visit his people and make them 
the offer to educate little Paul, if they would permit 


224 


WOODEN WIVES 


him to do so. Somehow, he could not bear the thought 
that, otherwise, the boy might grow up amidst the 
poor surroundings in which he now lived, content to 
be a long-shore-man, or a stoker,—or follow any of the 
callings open to such a life,—even tho he did stoutly 
declare, when he grew up to be a big, big man, he 
wanted to be a Senator. It was indeed a strange 
notion for a lad in his position. 

The lad seemed to fear to come near him again, or 
possibly there was jealousy in his little heart—to see 
him in company of a lady. 

Meanwhile, his mother, and Grandma Carey, were 
learning about the big, fine gentleman who had sent 
the food, and was continuing to be so good to Paul. 

His mother talked it over with Grandma, wondering 
what it all meant, and was beginning to grow alarmed. 

“Perhaps he is a movie man, and, noticing how 
clever my little boy is,—has notions of securing him 
for one of those screen pictures; I will veto any such 
idea at once.” 

Despite their questionings, they could not learn that 
the nice gentleman had even mentioned—pictures—to 
little Paul,—though he had told him that he should 
like to do great things for him. 

To their surprise, the boy cried most bitterly when 
he was forbidden to go near his new-found friend 
again. They were alarmed when he said:— 

“I love him next to you, Muzzy! Even better*n 
Grandma.” 

He did not think of disobeying;—but that was why 
he kept away from Daniel, though keeping close at his 


FATE PUSHES THE BUTTON 225 

heels,—peering at him from around corners,—wiping 
the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. 

Daniel Winslow became so troubled over this, that 
he determined to talk to little Paul about it. He had 
been unwise in mentioning this state of affairs, con¬ 
cerning the boy, to Marcelle; he received cold comfort 
from her. 

“As I told you, the boy did not care a rap for you, 
but was a most clever pretender, and fakir/’ she de¬ 
clared. “They noticed you w r ere rarely alone now,— 
and that I am usually with you, and concluded they 
had best leave you alone/’ 

He was loath to believe this explanation of the boy’s 
avoidance of him. Instead of letting matters go at 
that, he found himself actually worrying, and down¬ 
hearted over the estrangement that had taken place 
between the lad and himself. 

Marcelle was well pleased over it, for she was be¬ 
coming actually alarmed over the influence this 
strange little cross-sweep had exerted over Daniel 
Weslow. He seemed never pleased except when re¬ 
lating to her something that boy had said, or done, 
which he considered unusually clever and was actu¬ 
ally annoyed when she did not coincide with him. 

Marcelle concluded she would never know—peace— 
until she was married to Daniel,—and was far away 
from San Francisco,—and this boy. 

Daniel concluded not to tell Marcelle—until he had 
to,—of the plan so dear to his heart,—of doing hand¬ 
somely by—Little Paul. 


CHAPTER XXII 


EVERY HEART YEARNS FOR LOVE 

“Ah, they know not, heart of man or woman who declare 
That love needs time to woo with care! 

His altars wait not day nor name— 

Only the touch of sacred flame.” 

Marcelle was becoming more alarmed each day over 
the inroads this strange little cross-sweep, or news-boy, 
—which ever he chose to call himself, was making in 
the affections of Daniel Weslow. “I shall have to put 
a stop to it in some way, she decided. Her opportunity 
came sooner than she expected. 

Some few days later, when she and Daniel were out 
for a walk one afternoon, quite by accident they came 
across the boy, eagerly plying his little broom, sweeping 
the dust from the crossings, at one of the great stores,— 
where the women shoppers alighted from their auto¬ 
mobiles. 

Many were wont to toss him a penny, or bit of small 
change;—more often he received nothing whatever for 
preserving the cleanliness of the dainty foot-gear. 

As Marcelle expected, Daniel sighted him at once, and 
with unmistakable joy. “There is little Paul!” he ex¬ 
claimed;—“I feared he was ill!” 

The boy looked equally as delighted, to catch a sight 
of Daniel. For the instant, his mother’s warnings, and 
command were completely forgotten;—Down went the 
broom, and with a bound he was at Weslow’s side. 

226 


EVERY HEART YEARNS FOR LOVE 227 

“Well, how are you, my little man!” said Daniel 
genially, “I am right glad to see you, sonny.” 

“And I’m so glad to see you, daddy!” murmured the 
child, tears of gladness filling his large, beautiful blue 
eyes, “I was lonesome for you!” 

Daddy! Sonny! So they were as intimate as all 
that! Marcelle’s eyes fairly gleamed with rage;—she 
was beside herself with fury. 

“Here is our little laddy, whom I so feared was ill, 
and was just about to hunt up,—looking as bright and 
sparkling as the sunshine about us!” laughed Weslow. 

At that instant little Paul caught sight of Daniel’s 
companion,—and the gladness quickly gave way to an 
expression of great terror:—He clung to Daniel’s hand, 
whispering in affright:—“You wont let her hit me, 
will you!”—Oh, oh, daddy!—you wont—will you!” 

“What a notion!” laughed Weslow, laying his hand 
on the boy’s shoulder. “Of course the lady will not 
harm you;—why, she is quite as fond of you as I am, 
I’m sure.” 

The lad’s intuition told him better; he felt that the 
beautiful lady who stood by the side of the fine man 
whom he loved,—was his enemy. 

Marcelle had passed on impatiently a few steps; 
Daniel was obliged to follow her; he paused long enough 
to say:—“I’ll be around at the same eating place— 
where I always give you a good feed,—in the course of 
an hour, or so, sonny.” With those words, and flinging 
back a smile, Daniel passed on, joining his companion. 
In that moment in which he had been parting from 
the lad, Marcelle’s brain had concocted a daring thought. 


228 


WOODEN WIVES 


She was scarcely ten feet from the boy,—there was not 
a person in sight.—Quickly she flung the small gold 
purse she had been carrying in her hand, backward. It 
fell at little Paul’s feet; his attention at that instant had 
been directed in another direction. He saw the glitter¬ 
ing hing fall at his feet, but had no knowledge from 
whence it came. 

He did what any other child the world over, at his 
age, would have done,—stooped down, picked it up, and 
opened it,—looking with wide opened—wondering eyes 
at the bills, and pieces of yellow gold it contained. 

He quite thought it had dropped from the blue skies 
for him, in answer to his oft repeated prayer—to send 
him some money to buy some medicine for his mother 
who was ill at home. 

Marcelle stopped short, exclaiming * 1 Oh, Daniel!—my 
—little gold purse—has been stolen!—snatched! ’ ’ 

“When did you discover you hadn't it!” queried 
Daniel solicitously. 

She made him no answer, but, looking backward, 
screamed out—pointing her finger at little Paul,— 
“Look, Daniel! he has it; don’t you see it in his hand! 
—I told you he was a clever rogue!—a thief!—I—felt 
something being snatched from my hand as he slipped 
by me. You must call the police, and have him arrested 
at once,—or —I shall!” 

Daniel Weslow’s face had grown very white; he was 
greatly moved. “Marcelle,” he said earnestly, “that 
little kid wouldn’t steal,—he’s as honest as the sun! 
I’d stake my life on it.” 

“How can you say such a thing when you see it in 

* 


EVERY HEART YEARNS FOR LOVE 229 

his hands—and also see him foraging through its con¬ 
tents. ’’ 

“He will tell you, as I do, that he never thought of 
stealing it!” insisted Weslow, greatly disturbed. “He’s 
such a little fellow he doesn’t know what stealing 
means.” 

Marcelle’s fury grew apace, to see him standing there 
defending the boy. 

“Which are you going to believe,—-your affianced wife 
—or that thing!” 

“Come, let us go back, and he will give it to you, 
telling us how he came by it. I shall believe what he 
says,” declared Daniel resolutely. 

“You must not be taken in by any of his lies, if he 
should tell the glib story—I dropped it,” she said 
bitterly. 

“I imagine that must have been the way of it,” ad¬ 
mitted Daniel frankly. 

“Did you see him run after me to return it to me?— 
ask yourself that!” she snapped sharply, adding:— 

“I command you to cause his arrest here and now, 
Daniel; it is no more than right;—you are too just a 
man to aid in covering up—a felony. Once a thief, al¬ 
ways a thief, depend on it.” 

Daniel walked slowly back to where little Paul stood, 
eagerly examining the contents of the pretty purse,— 
Marcelle following. 

“Where did you get it, sonny,” he asked kindly, his 
voice sounded strained and hard, even to his own ears. 
The boy looked up at him with a smile. 

“I just wanted some money—an’ th’ fairies dropped 


230 


WOODEN WIVES 


it at my feet,” lie answered promptly and joyously, 
with no trace of guilt on his face. 

“The lady dropped it, but I suppose you did not see 
that, did you Sonny?” 

All the gladness died out of the childish face. “Then 
it wasn’t th’ fairies?” he exclaimed disappointedly. 
Daniel shook his head. 

The harshest laugh that was ever heard broke from 
Marcelle’s lips. 

She snatched the purse from the child’s hand, 
exclaiming shrilly:—“You have a champion in the man 
I am to marry;—that is all that saves you from the 
consequences of your sinful act!” Turning to Daniel, 
she said:—“We will go on, please, after you have 
obeyed my command to you—to see this thing through 
by bringing that little thief to justice.” 

“Your—command!” retorted Daniel. “You haven’t 
got as far as commanding me, Mrs. Rae, just remember 
that!—we are not married yet.” 

She saw she had gone a step too far, she had aroused 
his antagonism. * 1 Please escort me to the hotel, Daniel, ’ ’ 
she said. 

He saw the boy looking from the one to the other 
in puzzled wonder and doubt; he smiled down at him 
with an effort, murmuring :•—‘ £ It’s quite all right, sonny, 
I believe you;—you didn’t know who it belonged to— 
there won’t be any more about it.” 

Without another word, he took Marcelle’s arm, half 
leading, half dragging her away. The boy watched in 
puzzled wonder until they were out of sight. He could 
not quite understand what it all meant. 


EVERY HEART YEARNS FOR LOVE 231 

In utter silence Daniel and Marcelle proceeded to the 
hotel. 

“Wont you come in for afternoon tea, Daniel?” she 
queried. 

He shook his head, saying he had a business engage¬ 
ment which would detain him for the next hour or so; 
that the gentleman whom he was to meet, mut be await¬ 
ing him in his office. He parted from her more cooly 
than he had ever done since they had become bethrothed. 

“I did well to have the engagement published, also 
the date set for our marriage;—otherwise, I verily be¬ 
lieve Daniel Weslow would attempt to squirm out of it, 
—and all on account of this affair today with that nasty 
little street beggar. To save my life I cannot under¬ 
stand how it is that he has taken to that boy as he has,” 
she ruminated. 

As she thought it over, Marcello’s rage over it got the 
better of her;—then she made the crowning mistake of 
her life, acting on a sudden impulse. Donning her 
wraps quickly again, and calling a taxi, she was soon at 
the place little Paul was so industriously sweeping the 
walk. 

Calling a policeman she pointed to him, saying:— 

“Officer, I want that boy placed under arrest as a 
theif. I dropped my purse,—er he snatched it, I do 
not know which; looking back I saw it in his hands;— 
he was eagerly counting the money in it;—I find he 
has extracted over half of the money it contained.” 

A moment later, to little Paul’s dismay, a very big 
policeman grabbed him by the back of the neck,—drag¬ 
ging him along with him. All he heard was “Arrest” 


232 


WOODEN WIVES 


and 44 Station-house!” He saw the beautiful lady who 
had been with his hero,—daddy,—following them. She 
advanced to the desk, the Sergeant in command, taking 
her complaint. He heard them say something about 
the Children’s Night Court; then'he was hustled into 
a rear room where a number of tough boys were con¬ 
gregated, and the great iron door swung to after him 
with a bang, and a grating key turned in the lock. 

The tough boys greeted little Paul’s advent among 
them with laughter and jeers. They pushed and hauled, 
pinched, and tortured the child, hilarious over his fright 
and tears. When they grew tired of their one-sided 
sport,—they found the fragile, timid lad had swooned. 

* 4 He’ll come to in time to get tried,—and either be 
discharged if they can’t prove nothin’ agin him,—or 
get his ticket for th’ reformatory,” they agreed. 

Then, leaving the unconscious child huddled up in a 
corner, forgot him in discussing their own grievances. 

The guard, passing to and fro had not paused long 
enough, in glancing in to note the cause of their 
hilariousness, which suddenly ceased as he made his ap¬ 
pearance—not to be resumed until he was out of hear¬ 
ing. 

Meanwhile, in his humble home, there was great worri- 
ment and anxiety when he did not return. His mother 
was just coming down with the grippe, for that reason 
Granny dared not let her know of his absence. 

The sun went down and the cool dusk of the evening 
crept up, still he did not come. Had he met with an 
accident! 44 God in Heaven forbid!” sobbed the poor 
old woman wringing her wrinkled old hands as she 


EVERY HEART YEARNS FOR LOVE 


233 


peered from the window into the darkness. She was 
glad beyond words that his poor mother had dropped 
off into a deep slumber. 

At last Grandma Carey decided she could endure the 
anxiety no longer; she must go out to search for him. 
She went up one street after the other, calling his 
name, and peering into every alley. There was no re¬ 
sponse. At length, the poor old soul, who was nearly 
blind, bumped full into a gentleman who was advanc¬ 
ing swiftly around the corner. 

“Paul, Little Paul,” she sobbed, “where are you, 
that you do not hear poor old Grandma calling you, 
dearie! Oh, God! he does not answer ,—what could have 
happened to our darling little boy!” 

The gentleman, who was Daniel Weslow, stopped 
short, exclaiming:—“What is the matter, my good 
woman? You seem in trouble! Can I aid you in any 
way? For whom are you searching?” 

In broken sobs, the tears falling like rain down her 
wrinkled face, she explained that she was searching 
for little Paul, the cross-sweep, who had never failed 
to come home before,—but was no where to be found 
now. 

A cold hand, with the chill of death upon it, seemed 
to grip Daniel Weslow’s heart. “Little Paul—the 
urchin with the flaxen curls clustering about his baby 
face!” Lost! Great Heaven! How could it have 
happened. Then, all at once he remembered the epi¬ 
sode of the purse that afternoon—and the accusation 
of Marcelle, to the boy’s face—that he had stolen it. 
He had not gone home; many a lad, even as young as 


234 


WOODEN WIVES 


Little Paul had so grieved over a false accusation that 
they had ended their own existence;—their hearts had 
broken; they had died of grief. 

“He shall be found within the hour,” cried Weslow, 
excitedly. “I shall set the entire machinery of the 
police force at work without delay to accomplish it. I 
know your little Grandson well,—and am so fond of 
him—that if anything has happened to injure him—I 
will never get over it; it would darken my life;—I—I 
—love—that little boy—Paul!” 

At this point, a policeman, swinging his night-stick, 
hove leisurely in sight. Of him Weslow inquired the 
way to the nearest police station,—stating his object. 
The man, who happened to be the one who had ar¬ 
rested the boy,—and who knew the multi-millionaire, 
by sight, who was talking to him, looked considerably 
perturbed. 

“Step this way, sir, so that the old woman may not 
hear, and I will tell you where to look for the little 
Cross-sweep,” he said. 

Daniel obeyed with alacrity. 

“It’s just this way, sir—we’re here to do our 
duty-” 

“Well, well, what of the boy?” questioned Daniel, 
having a faint inkling of what was coming, “Speak 
quickly, man.” 

“I was ordered by a lady, sir, to arrest the boy for 
stealing,—which I did, the lady following to lodge the 
complaint. He is in the Children’s Night Court. His 
case ought to be called very soon now.” 

The policeman was actually frightened at the 



EVERY HEART YEARNS FOR LOVE 235 

mighty wrath this information evoked from the great 
millionaire. He turned to the old woman who stood 
a little way off, and had not heard the low whispered 
words,—“Go home,” he said, “and, within the hour I 
will have your little boy safe in your arms, and in his 
mother’s. Tell her that for me. I pledge myself to do 
so.” 

With long, swinging strides Weslow made his way 
quickly to the police court in question. He was recog¬ 
nized at once by the sergeant at the desk, who was 
only too pleased to give him full information concern¬ 
ing the ease. His anger knew no bounds when he dis¬ 
covered that it was Marcelle who had lodged the com¬ 
plaint;—and that it looked dark for the boy—the 
lady’s word against the lad’s,—and very much as 
though the intention was to railroad him to the re¬ 
formatory. The lady had hinted strongly that such a 
course was the only one which appeared to her as 
feasible. 

The Sergeant would have been glad to have obliged 
the millionaire by discharging the boy at once, but— 
the rules of the Court had to be enforced. He must 
await his turn to be tried—and his case decided upon. 

“The lady said she would be here to press the case,” 
said the sergeant. He saw Weslow’s brow grow dark 
and stormy,—and wondered how the affair was to end. 

“I will sit here until she arrives,” Weslow an¬ 
nounced, clenching his hands tightly together. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

WHEN THE HEART YEARNS FOR THE LOVE OF A LITTLE 
CHILD 

“My dear and only love, I pray. 

Be governed by no other sway 
Than thy good judgment; 

For, if confusion have a part 
Which noble souls abhor 

And hold a council in thy heart, 

I’ll never love thee more.” 

Although Daniel Weslow watched and waited in the 
Children’s Night Court in grim silence, as case after 
case was disposed of, Mareelle did not put in an ap- 
pearence. The truth of the matter was,—she had ar¬ 
rived in a taxi at the door of the station house just as 
the huge clock on its wall pointed to the hour of eight. 
As the cab stopped, and ere she had time to alight, look¬ 
ing through the window, she beheld Daniel sitting 
within. 

At the first glance at his set, stony face, she realized 
he was there to battle for the boy, let the finish be what 
it might. 

The chauffeur stepped down to open the door. “I 
have concluded not to stop;—back to the hotel,” she 
ordered. 

The fourth case called was little Paul’s. To see the 
trembling lad in the grasp of the burly officer, brought 
Daniel to his feet with a bound. 

236 


HEART YEARNS FOR THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD 237 

He could scarcely restrain the impulse to rush for¬ 
ward and take him from the officer. He clenched the 
back of a chair tightly, and waited. 

Little Paul, still shaking with terror, had not as yet 
discovered his presence. The sergeant was obliged to 
lean forward, and peer over his desk to see the little 
fellow, and hear his piping voice. He had had much 
experience with criminals of all ages, and guilt in every 
phase. He was able to detect innocence, sifting the 
wheat from the chaff. 

He looked down kindly at the little boy, and some¬ 
thing very like a tear gathered in his eyes which were 
always noted for their cold, merciless glare which al¬ 
ways caused the most hardened offenders to quail. 

He asked the few questions, gently, of little Paul; as 
there was no one on hand to press the charge,—he was 
honorably discharged. 

Daniel stepped forward. At that instant the boy 
caught sight of him, and with a piteous little cry that 
those who heard it never forgot, he bounded into his 
arms, sobbing:—“Oh, Daddy!—Daddy!” 

Daniel Weslow was too overcome to utter a single 
word. He sank down in the nearest chair, holding the 
lad close to his throbbing heart, his shaking hand strok¬ 
ing little Paul’s curly head,—His tear-stained cheeks and 
the little fingers, clutching his own so tightly. 

“It’s all right, sonny,” he whispered soothingly, 
“You’re going to come right along with me; I’ll take 
you straight home to your ma. ’ ’ 

The court attaches who witnessed the scene between 
the great multi-millionaire, garbed so immaculately, and 


238 


WOODEN WIVES 


the dusty, tousled boy whom he was fondling with such 
great tenderness, nodded to each other, the one whis¬ 
pering to the other:—“Did you ever see th’ like 
o’that!” others remarked, “There’s a fortune ahead 
o’ that kid, believe me; no one can tell where the 
fancy of these great men may strike.” 

All unmindful of the attention he was attracting,— 
and that there were newspaper reporters present who 
might make a great story out of it for their papers, 
Daniel continued to soothe the boy who had been al¬ 
most hysterical,—ending by calling a taxi,—placing 
the lad in it, and springing in after him. 

Grandma Carey stood at the window, watching and 
crying. She could scarcely believe her senses, when 
she beheld Little Paul being lifted out of a cab in 
front of their door, by the fine gentleman who had as¬ 
sured her an hour before, that he would find the boy, 
and restore him to his mother and her. 

Daniel bore him in his arms up the three flights of 
stairs to the humble little rooms at the top of the 
house. 

Grandma Carey opened the door softly, holding her 
finger to her lips. She received the boy from him with 
tears and passionate kisses, yet—holding her finger 
over little Paul’s lips, whispering:—Sh!—sh! your ma 
is sleeping; we mustn’t awake her.” 

She tried to thank the gentleman for his great kind¬ 
ness in finding and restoring little Paul to them; still 
Daniel lingered. 

“It looks to me—as though he was—in a fever,” he 
whispered, taking the boy’s hand. “Don’t you think 


HEART YEARNS FOR THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD 239 

it would be advisable for me to fetch a doctor for 
him?” 

Grandma Carey bent down and looked at the child, 
drawing back with a sob on her lips. “Yes! yes! he 
is ill—very ill!” she moaned, wringing her wrinkled, 
feeble old hands. “Oh, Little Paul!—Little Paul!” 

“Put him to bed,—I will return as quickly as pos¬ 
sible with a physician.” 

Ere she could utter one word of gratitude he was 
out of the room, bounding down the stairs three steps 
at a time, was into the taxi, and off. 

At the nearest drug store he leaped out, inquiring 
the name of the very best doctor in the city. The 
druggist pointed to a gentleman who was just leaving 
the place. As he turned about, on hearing his name 
called, Daniel discovered, to his intense joy, that he 
was a man who had lived in his early youth, on a 
ranch out in Oklahoma. He had known him well. The 
recognition was mutual. He turned and retraced his 
steps. 

“I am now—Dr. John King—of San Francisco,” he 
announced. “Is there anything I can do for you, 
Daniel?” 

“Yes, John!” returned Weslow, huskily, “you can 
come with me quickly, and—save the life of—a little 
boy.” In a few words he explained the nature of the 
trouble. Dr. King’s face looked very grave as he ex¬ 
amined Little Paul. “We have taken hold of him just 
in time. I think I will have him removed—to the hos¬ 
pital. ’ ’ 

To this Grandma Carey put up such a piteous pro- 


240 


WOODEN WIVES 


test, that he and Daniel looked at each other in 
troubled silence. 

“Let me keep him here, in his own home, doctor /’ 
she sobbed. “I will work day and night to do every¬ 
thing for him, only let us keep him here; don’t send 
him out to strangers—to whom it does not matter 
whether he lives or dies;—he will live—under my 
care.” 

“Let it be as she says,” whispered Daniel huskily. 
“Tomorrow I will see that a trained nurse is installed 
—leave that to me.” 

After administering the proper medicine, and being 
obliged to leave to attend to an urgent call, and prom¬ 
ising to look in early the next morning, Dr. King took 
his leave. 

“I suppose you will be going soon, sir,” said 
Grandma Carey, “and I want to tell you how grateful 
I am to you—but words—fail me.” 

“You have no need to thank me,” returned Daniel, 
adding:—“With your permission, I will sit here, be¬ 
side little Paul until morning; I think—somehow,—he 
will rest easier, if he knows—I am here; go to your 
bed, my good woman, you will need rest; I assure you 
most solemnly that I will be as faithful in my watch- 
care over the boy, as though he were my very own.” 

The poor old soul demurred, Daniel insisted, and, 
reluctantly she left them alone together, wondering if 
she were doing right,—but she was tired—so very— 
very tired, and the aged—are weak.” 

All through the hours of the long night Daniel Wes- 
low sat by the bedside, holding one of the feverish lit- 


HEART YEARNS FOR THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD 241 

tie hands in his, and with his disengaged one, smooth¬ 
ing the little sufferer’s pillow. Twice during the night 
Little Paul awakened in alright, shrilling out:—“Are 
you there,—daddy?” to which Daniel made answer, 
as he pressed his fluttering little hand:—“Eight here, 
Sonny.” 

“And you—won’t—go—away!” asked the boy, 
tightening his hold. 

“I’m going to stay just as long as you want me to,” 
reassured Daniel. 

“I want you to stay forever!” decided little Paul, 
taking a firmer hold of Daniel’s hand with both of his 
own. 

Again, a little later the white eyelids flew open 
quickly in fear,—which gave place to a smile of com¬ 
fort as he saw Daniel there. 

“I’m right on the job, Sonny,” he commented. “Go 
right to sleep again,—Daddy’ll be right here when you* 
wake up.” 

The half candle in the candle-stick burned slowly to 
the socket,—spluttered, and went out,—leaving the 
room in total darkness; still Daniel Weslow kept his 
lonely vigil. In those hours of desolation, he prayed 
to his God to save the life of this boy, who had crept 
into his heart and nestled there—to remain enshrined 
in his heart as long as he should live. Yes, he loved 
the lad,—loved him as he had never loved any human 
being in all his lonely life before. 

He looked at the faint pink ribbons of light that 
pierced the eastern sky, heralding the birth of a new 
born day, with wistful eagerness. The early morning 


242 


WOODEN WIVES 


brought Dr. King again. He was astounded to find 
Daniel Weslow still sitting there, holding the boy’s 
hand, realizing he had kept vigil all night. 

“You must save this boy if it is within human 
power, doctor,” he said, “spare no pains—or ex¬ 
pense; let everything be done for him. ,, 

Dr. King nodded assent; he was greatly perplexed 
over the great interest his old friend,—who had since 
become a great multi-millionaire, took in this little 
waif and stray of Crow’s Alley. 

“You must go back to your hotel and rest, Wes¬ 
low,” he commanded, or I shall have another patient 
on my hands.” Very reluctantly, Daniel allowed him¬ 
self to be persuaded to leave the boy’s bedside. 

When Marcelle met him in the breakfast room of 
the hotel an hour later, she was amazed at the change 
in him; he looked as though long years had passed 
over his head. His greeting to her was cold and con¬ 
strained; she felt it keenly, but knew better than to 
take notice of it. 

“Could you spare an hour, Daniel, to ride around 
the park?” she asked. 

“No, I am due right now, at the bedside of—a dear 
—sick friend?” he said. 

Marcelle was sure his next remark would be con¬ 
cerning the little cross-sweep, and that a bitter quar¬ 
rel between them would result from it. 

This in all probability would have been the case, but 
for the opportune entrance of a gentleman who ap¬ 
peared to be a warm friend of Daniel’s—but whom he 
evidently did not care to introduce to her, therefore, 


HEART YEARNS FOR THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD 243 

saying she would wait for him to call her up later, she 
left the breakfast room—which was certainly a relief 
to Daniel. 

The gentleman was Docter King. “I just dropped 
in for a moment, in passing, to report to you our little 
patient is progressing famously, ’ ’ he said. “I have 
just left the lad;—the danger of developing fever has 
passed, thanks to your faithful carrying out my 
orders in giving the medicine on the minute, and so 
forth. He will mend rapidly now, and be quite himself 
in the course of a fortnight. Fresh air, and sunshine 
will do more than we doctors can for him.” 

Weslow was deeply agitated as he grasped the doc¬ 
tor’s hand; all he could say was a fervent:—“Thank 
God—and you!” As soon as he could gain anything 
like composure, he said eagerly:—“I shall see that he 
has plenty of air and sunshine;—I will get an auto¬ 
mobile at once and take him out myself all day long 
through the park.” 

Dr. King laid a hand on Daniel’s shoulder, saying: 
—“You mean the best in the world, Weslow,—but, 
let me advise you to stop and think for a moment— 
using the good sense you have always been credited 
with having. This boy has never been used to the 
luxury you would force upon him;—it would set a 
pace for an extravagance he could never know again. 
It would cause dissatisfaction with his lot in life;— 
and might be the means of making a rogue out of a 
now innocent boy—to procure, and enjoy what he 
could never come by honestly. No, no, Daniel,—let 
his two little sturdy legs carry him around in the air, 


244 


WOODEN WIVES 


and the sunshine; that will bring about the speediest, 
safest cure.” 

“You are doubtless—right.” Daniel was forced to 
admit. 

“I will look in upon the little fellow as often as I 
can today, but shall be pretty well tied up on account 
of the Physician’s Convention here, this week. I have 
one of the visiting doctors waiting now, outside for me. 
By the way, he was one of the consulting physicians 
who was called in to see you when you were stricken 
in your home in Washington, some few years ago, he 
tells me;—he would be glad to see you again, Weslow.” 

“And I shall be equally glad to see him,” returned 
Weslow promptly. 

They repaired at once to the smoking room where 
the stranger was awaiting Dr. King. Daniel remem¬ 
bered Doctor Northby’s face at once. 

They shook hands cordially, all three sitting down 
to enjoy a smoke together. “Dr. Northby is stopping 
with me, while in Frisco, at my bachelor quarters— 
I want him to see as much of the city and suburbs as 
possible. Many of the doctors have brought their 
good wives along, which lets me out of being host to 
more of them.” 

“Our friendship dates back to the time we studied 
physics together. I own I was somewhat surprised 
to find my genial friend—still single;—and what is 
more,” he added, “he assures me, up to this time of 
his life, he has never yet had a single heart affair.” 

“I think I can vouch for that,” said Weslow through 
a cloud of smoke. 


HEART YEARNS FOR THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD 245 

“But what about yourself !” queried King, turning 
the tables on Doctor Northby. “How does it happen 
that you are also heart whole, and fancy free?” 

“It isn’t of my own accord,” smiled Northby. “I 
had a love affair about seven years ago,—but it was 
a one sided romance. I went on a fortnight’s visit to 
my sister;—there I met a beautiful but unfortunate 
—girl. I asked her to become my wife. At that junc¬ 
ture I was called away. I gave her a week to consider 
it, When I returned—she had gone away, leaving no 
address.—I did my best to locate her—but failed. She 
was my first love—and will be my last.” 

Turning to Weslow, Dr. King asked:— 

“You have never seen the mother of that little boy, 
Paul, I believe. I have,—and let me tell you, despite 
her great poverty, privations, and hard work, she is 
as refined, and lovely a young woman as I ever saw. 
I am sure she has seen better days; she is a lady to the 
manner bora.” 

Dr. Northby smiled to Weslow and nodded toward 
King. “He is on the rim of a romance— now ,—I should 
say. He has become interested in the sick-boy’s 
mother. Pity is usually the fore-runner of love.” 

Daniel Weslow was startled. He had not dreamed 
of such a contingency. If Dr. King wooed, and won 
the mother, he would not want to encourage the lad’s 
affection for himself. He would want little Paul to 
call—HIM—daddy. 

During the entire morning this phase of the case 
troubled him; he could not put it out of his mind. 
Promptly he sought a solution of the impending diffi¬ 
culty, putting it into execution without delay. 


246 


WOODEN WIVES 


Repairing at once to the office of his lawyer,—he 
laid the case before him. On the first day of his arrival 
he had bought a paper of a little newsboy,-—seeing 
and chatting with the urchin each day since. The boy, 
who was the child of a woman so poor she scarcely 
knew from day to day where her next meal was to 
come from,—had grown fond of him, the esteem being 
mutual;—in short, to state the object of his visit to 
the lawyer,—he wished to adopt the lad Paul Weis. 

“No matter how poor many a mother is, she will 
cling to her offspring,” remarked the attorney slowly. 

“I will make it a great—money—object!” declared 
Daniel. “I want you to go to her, and fix it up for 
me.” 

“I will do my utmost to secure what you want, but 
mind, I do not—promise success will crown my under¬ 
taking. I would suggest that in all probability you 
would make a better job of it by going to the mother 
and pleading your own cause. You were a Senator 
once, and a mighty good one, I remember. Use the 
same degree of eloquence you used to put your bills 
through at that time,—and you ought to be able to 
convince the poor woman that it would be the best 
thing that could happen to the lad—to permit you to 
adopt him. Why, it would be a wonderful thing for 
the boy, as she should realize.” 

“I—put it in your hands—entirely,” declared 
Daniel. 

“I will report to you sometime this afternoon,” re¬ 
plied Lawyer Kirby. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


CHOOSING BETWEEN THEM 

“Love, sole lord and monarch, of itself 
Allows no ties, no dictates but its own 
To that mysterious arbitrary power 

Reason points out, and duty pleads in vain . 31 

Lawyer Kirby lost no time in presenting himself at 
the home of the lad in whom his multi-millionaire client 
felt such a deep interest. He would not have gone per¬ 
sonally to Crows Alley, and toiled up to the top floor 
for any one save Daniel Weslow. Grandma Carey 
answered his knock, courtesying profoundly when she 
beheld a fine looking gentleman standing there. 

She was quite dumbfounded when he entered, seating 
himself, and without preliminary, stated his errand. 

As usual, the poor old lady got things mixed. She 
understood that it was a Mr. Kirby who wanted to 
adopt little Paul.—Mr. Kirby, the boy’s new-found 
friend of whom he was so exceedingly fond. 

At the other end of the short hall, Pauline, tossing 
feverishly on her pillow, heard, through the door which 
was ajar, snatches of their conversation. 

Through her befogged brain came the realization—a 
man was there who was asking—to adopt her little boy 
Paul. 

She cried out: “No! no! no!” with all her strength, 

247 


248 


WOODEN WIVES 


but he had not heard,—he did not heed. She heard 
him explaining to Grandma what a wonderful thing it 
would be for the boy;—the opportunity of his life. 

He had said all there was to be said. Argued the 
case as he had never argued, even for a client’s life— 
before Judge and jury. 

He desired to see the boy’s mother, to talk it over 
with her. Grandma was sorry,—but the doctor had said 
she must see no one. He was obliged to leave the matter 
in the old lady’s hands, returning for his answer the 
following day. Grandma had given her promise that 
she would do every thing in her power to further his 
wishes. 

Taking a bill from his pocket he pressed it upon her, 
remarking that if Mrs. Weis consented to the adoption, 
it would mean a decided change for the better, for 
both women. 

Running to the window to look after him, when he 
he had departed, she saw a fine automobile in waiting, 
which he hastily entered. 

Then, quickly as her old limbs would carry her, she 
sought Lena, with the news, Mr. Kirby,—that was the 
name of the new-found friend of little Paul,—wished— 
TO —ADOPT HIM!” 

“I heard most of what he said!” sobbed Lena, “but 
I tell you, Grandma it cannot be; I would as soon think 
of tearing out the living beating heart from my body, 
as giving up, my Paul! My only treasure! the one and 
only tie that binds me to life, and makes it worth living. 
No—no—no—! 

Grandma, he cannot have my baby—! I have loved 


CHOOSING BETWEEN THEM 249 

him too long and well to part from him. He is my 
world, the light of my life, my all. ,, 

Her violent weeping frightened Grandma Carey, who 
had used all her arguments to secure a bright future for 
little Paul—as she saw it. 

4 ‘ It was quite useless. Send him away when he comes 
back for his answer,” she sobbed. “He cannot have my 
boy; I would die without—little Paul.” 

“You may regret robbing your boy of his chance— 
all your after life,’ ’ declared Grand-ma, wiping her eyes 
with the corner of her apron. ‘ ‘ Think what he will say 
to you when he grows up, and learns how you came be¬ 
tween him and, a life from which all care and worry 
would have been lifted. Try to put yourself out of the 
consideration,—remembering you are—facing the great 
—vital question—What is best for your boy’s future;— 
You hold his fate in your hands; will you consign him 
to a life of work, seeing him suffer perhaps long years, 
his back bent by the weight of his burden—or will you 
give him the joy and gladness and future prosperity 
wealth can procure for him? Remember, Paul loves 
Mr. Kirby—he even calls him—Daddy.” 

Pauline struggled up to a sitting posture in her bed, 
her eyes dilated with fright. “Don’t you see how it is, 
Grandma,” she whispered hoarsely,—this stranger 
possesses a dire influence over my child;—as sure as you 
and I both live—he has—mesmerized my—little— 
Paul!” 

Grandma shook her head. “He is too fine a man to 
do anything of that kind, Lena,” she said reprovingly. 
“He is willing for you to examine and have every proof 


25a 


WOODEN WIVES 


you require that his credentials are genuine. Think of 
it!—he is willing to make over a fortune to the boy, the 
moment the adoption papers are signed;—and what is 
more, he said he would see to it that little—Paul’s 
mother—and even I—should never know want for the 
rest of our days. I ask you, Lena, would he do all this 
if he meant harm to the boy?—-No—he— LOVES —your 
little Son.” 

“He is more to me than anything else in the world, I 
tell you!” 

“Why not let little Paul, himself, decide it,” sug¬ 
gested Grandma. 

Without waiting for Lena’s consent, she hurried to 
the boy’s room, bringing him to her. 

It would have brought tears to the hardest eyes to 
have seen the hapless mother catch Paul in her arms, 
strain him to her bosom, cuddling and weeping over 
him, and sobbing out that she could not be parted from 
him. 

“What are you crying for, Muzzy!” he demanded 
quite as soon as he could catch his breath. 4 ‘ If you cry, 
I will cry too!” 

She caught his flushed cheeks between the palms of 
her hands and kissed him tumultuously;—kissed his 
curling yellow hair, his eyes, and his little hands, sob¬ 
bing out to Grandma that “it was useless, she could 
never let him leave here. They would live their lives 
together for each other—and God would be merciful and 
let them—die together.” 

Grandma was forced at last to intercede, and explain 


CHOOSING BETWEEN THEM 251 

as best she could the cause of his mother’s agitation, to 
the lad. 

“It's about the gentleman—who sat by your bed-side 
and held your hand all the long night through, Paul,” 
she faltered. 

“About—Daddy!” cried the child joyously. “Oh, 
isn’t he coming to see me to-day? How I wish, and wish, 
and wish—he were here! ’ ’ 

Grandma and his mother exchanged meaning glances. 
—Lina had grown very white;—she strained the boy 
more convulsively still to her throbbing heart, her pallid 
lips twitching—but no sound coming from them. 

“Do you love him, sweetheart?” queried Grandma, 
anxiously. 

“Yes!” replied the boy promptly, “I don’t know 
which I love most—Muzzy—or—Daddy. Oh, I want him 
to come, I want—Daddy!” 

It was God’s voice calling through the child’s heart. 

His mother fell back on her pillow, her lips quivering 
piteously. Grandma thought for a moment that she was 
dying!—that little Paul’s words had broken her sorely 
tried heart. 

“Would you like to go away—a long way off from 
muzzy,—with the—gentleman?” queried Grandma in a 
voice freighted with tears. 

“I’ll go away with him—if he will bring Muzzy— 
along—an’ an’ —you too , Grandma,” he replied bravely, 
and again his shrill little voice piped out eagerly :— 11 Oh, 
how I want—Daddy!—I love him, I want him!—I need 
him.” 

“I—am—answered!” moaned the unhappy mother, 


252 


WOODEN WIVES 


“my boy loves and yearns to be with this stranger;—my 
little one—has decided—what shall be done.” Grandma 
carried him away, struggling, kicking, and calling for— 
Daddy! He never knew that his mother fell back on 
her pillow in a deep swoon.—Grandma was intensely 
frightened, she had so much difficulty in bringing her to. 

Grandma did not mention to her that the boy had 
cried himself to sleep because the gentleman failed to 
put in an appearance. 

Lawyer Kirby was well pleased, when he called the 
following day and learned there was hope that little 
Paul’s mother would think favorably of the proposition 
of the adoption of her son. She must have, however, a 
few days to make up her mind fully. 

“Certainly, that was expected,” agreed the attorney. 
“I shall come some day this week, the latter part of it, 
for her final decision.” He asked particularly, that no 
word of this should be mentioned to anyone,—not even 
to the doctor who was still coming to see the boy’s 
mother. 

Therefore, Doctor King wondered vaguely why it was 
that he found his patient so much worse—when he called 
later that day. 

Meanwhile the attorney lost no time in communicating 
over the phone the result of his negotiations so far. 

Daniel Weslow was beside himself with joy. Pacing 
up and down the length of his room, he murmured over 
and over again:—“If the good Lord is kind enough to 
give that dear little lamb into my keeping;—I will love 
and care for him as though he were my very own. As I 
deal by him, so may God deal with me.” 



CHOOSING BETWEEN THEM 253 

Marcelle was surprised at the smile on his face when 
he greeted her at the dinner table that evening. 

“You look very happy, Daniel /’ she remarked. 

“I am very happy over something that is about to 
happen—soon, Marcelle. ’ ’ 

“You mean our marriage, dear,” she whispered. “I 
was wondering if you were remembering—it is little 
more than a week off.” 

The light and brightness died out of his face. “I had 
indeed quite forgotten it was so near at hand,—it was 
not of that I was thinking.” 

“What then?” she queried. “You must keep no 
secrets, you know, from the lady you are so soon to wed. 
Your joys shall be mine, Daniel dear.” 

“I was just thinking that I ought to tell you about 
it,” he said—slowly, ponderingly.—“You would know 
soon anyhow;—well, my present—happiness is caused by 
anticipation of adopting, within the next few days,— 
Little Paul.” 

If a bomb had suddenly burst in her face, Marcelle 
could not have been more shocked and enraged. 

“Daniel!” she gasped, springing to her feet and fac¬ 
ing him, despite the many diners in the room.—“You 
must not!—I protest against it! Surely I have every 
right to be consulted on a matter which jeopardizes the 
happiness of my future. You are surely insane, Daniel 
Weslow, to think, for an instant of adopting that miser¬ 
able little brat.!” 

“Stop!—not another word, Marcelle, or I shall leave 
the table and the room.—As I said on another occasion, 
—you are not —my wife—YET,—therefore, have no 


254 


WOODEN WIVES 


right to dictate to me, as to what I shall,—or shall not 
do. —Ill adopt the boy while I am free, and able, and 
willing to do so. You had best not attempt to interfere. 
It will do no good;—perhaps,—harm. I tell you this: 
—No one save Almighty God can prevent me from 
making that little boy—mine—by adoption. I want him 
as I have never wanted,—longed for—anything in my 
life before. Nothing can thwart me. Now you know 
what I intend to do,—it is up to you entirely as to 
whether you and I marry—or—not.” 

“You—you—would be satisfied—to break with me?” 
she panted, her eyes glowing like living coals of fire. 

“I stand upon my right to refuse to answer,” he 
replied calmly. 

“It is the cruelest indignity that was ever heaped on a 
woman, Daniel,” she cried chokingly. “I love you with 
all my heart and soul,—I—I—cannot bear the thought 
of sharing you with any human being on earth. Oh, 
my dear lover,—my husband so soon to be, let me plead 
with you to give up this mad notion about the strange 
little boy. Let me,—your Mareelle, be all in all to you. 
I will make you so happy you will never feel the craving 
for any other love. Let us make a truce:—hold off this 
adoption for six months after we are married; if you 
still insist, then,—I shall make no further effort to divert 
you from your purpose.” 

“I have given my word, Mareelle; the papers are al¬ 
ready being prepared—it must go forward;—speak no 
more of it;—I refuse to listen. ’’ 

There was that in his eyes which warned her not to 
say another word on the subject.—Once again, this boy 


CHOOSING BETWEEN THEM 


255 


whom she already detested with the most intense 
hatred, had won a victory over her;—this was the 
crowning feat. 

A little later Daniel called up the doctor to see if he 
might be permitted to sit up with his little friend, that 
night. 

“Better not!” was the laughing reply over the phone. 
“Your presence seems to excite the little fellow too 
much. He will not lay down in his bed and go to sleep; 
—he wants to be cuddled up in your arms. He’s doing 
finely, let well enough alone. I’ll advise you when to 
pay your next call,—but let it be a day or so longer.” 

As the second, and third day dragged their slow 
lengths by, and still he did not put in an appearance, 
little Paul began to call for him incessantly;—even in 
his sleep he would stir restlessly murmuring eagerly:— 
4 ‘ Has Daddy come ? ’ ’—I—want him so! ” 

Grandma became very much alarmed lest the doctor 
should hear, especially as she had been warned not to 
let anyone know, not even him. 

The mother had been too ill to look over the papers 
and credentials the lawyer’s clerk had brought for her 
inspection, and Grandma’s eyes too dim to get head or 
tail of them, yet the clerk, too lazy to make another trip, 
gathered them up, making the report that both women 
had O.K’ed them.—“We may as well close the matter 
without further delay, then,” decided Lawyer Kirby. 

Owing to the mother’s condition, the following morn¬ 
ing, Dr. King concluded that it would be wisest and best 
to give her a soothing opiate,—to induce a few hours’ 
sleep. While she was still restless, but gradually giving 


256 


WOODEN WIVES 


way to its soporific influence, tlie clerk brought the docu¬ 
ment for her to sign. 

4 'On the dotted line, please,” he said thrusting the 
pen into her nervless fingers,—"sign there—Lena Weis.” 

Mechanically she obeyed. The signature was stragl- 
ing, as was Grandma’s who was requested to put her 
name down as witness. He had brought his notary’s 
seal with him, hurriedly affixing it. 

"I’ll bet this will be worth a million of money to your 
little boy, ma’am. I congratulate him. There was never 
a more rapid rise from poverty to riches,” he said, 
pocketing the document. "Lawyer Barker requested me 
to say to you, if you are in need of immediate money,— 
you will please call upon him.” 

Glancing at the mother, the clerk saw that she had not 
heard; she had trailed off into a deep sleep. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE WEB OF FATE 

“I hold it true whate’er befall, 

I feel it when I sorrow most— 

7 Tis better to have loved and lost 
Than never to have loved at all .’ 7 

It was the happiest moment Daniel Weslow had 
known for long years, when Lawyer Kirby announced 
to him over the phone 1 ‘ the Adoption paper had been 
duly signed.”—Little Paul was now his own. He could 
now make plans for him; he felt that he had now 
something to live for. A gleam of sunshine had stolen 
into his dark and lonely life;—then, like a dark cloud 
overspreading his happiness, came the thought of his 
approaching marriage to Marcelle. 

He regretted his hasty proposal, a thousand times 
over; but, being a man of honor, he realized he must 
go on with it.—How happy he could have been,—with 
little Paul only. Marcelle did not like the lad,—that 
would mean that there would be constant friction 
between them, he could not endure that. 

He concluded he must have an earnest talk with her 
at once to settle the situation. She must understand 
for all time, that, to win any deeper sentiment than 
kindliness from him,—she must first win the liking, if 
not the love of—Little Paul. 

In his exuberance of spirits, Daniel called up Dr. 

257 


258 


WOODEN WIVES 


King, acquainting him of the good news, inquiring 
when he would be permitted to see the lad. 

The doctor was firm in his resolve that it must not 
be for a few days. 

After receiving the news, Dr. King sat down in his 
office, giving himself up to his conflicting emotions. 
There was another angle to this affair that worried 
him considerably. He knew that Daniel Weslow, ac¬ 
cording to his own admission, had never seen the boy’s 
mother;-—only he, her doctor, was aware of her great 
beauty, her refinement, and grace. If Daniel were to 
behold her, he felt almost certain he would fall in 
love with her and want to marry her—for her own 
sake, independent of the great influence of the boy. 
At this turn of affairs, Dr. King suddenly woke up to 
the knowledge that he himself was deeply interested 
in Mrs. Weis. “Interested!” he muttered springing 
to his feet and pacing up and down the length of the 
office,—that is not the word that fits the case;—I am 
in LOVE with her—the only woman who has ever 
caused me an extravagant heart throb. 

He decided the wisest thing to do, was to take time 
by the fore-lock by proposing marriage to the humble 
little widow—without delay. 

He concluded too, that there was absolutely no use 
in letting Weslow hang around the place;—he would 
keep him away from the Weis home for a few days, 
and in the interim, his own affair would be settled. 
Putting on his hat he wended his way to the little 
home without delay. 

He found little Paul’s mother in a very excited state 


THE WEB OF FATE 


259 


of mind. As slie made no reference to the adoption,— 
evidently not taking him into her confidence.—He did 
not allude to it in any way, or let her know that he 
knew about it. 

She looked anxious as he entered:—“It was very 
good of you to call, ,, she murmured,—“but, this must 
be your last visit;—I cannot afford the luxury of a 
physician longer; it is best to be frank with you. I 
am getting along slowly—but surely,—quite fit to re¬ 
sume my work, doctor.” 

He took her little, worn hand in his, looking tenderly 
down at the fair spirituelle face, framed in its halo of 
golden hair, wondering how he should begin—to tell 
her that which he had. come to say. 

“I do not worry over that,” he declared earnestly. 
“No bill shall be sent you;—I am only too glad to have 
been able to render you and your little son any service 
in my power,—which has been entirely gratis, I assure 
you.” 

She looked up at the kindly man in wonder. He 
went on:—“Every day of our lives we, doctors, are 
called to many places. To those who should be able to 
pay, »we send bills, the others need have no worry over 
our visits;—I am still coming here—because,—well, I 
must be frank with you, —I am coming because—I 
find in you an attraction for me that no other woman 
whom I have ever met,—possessed. Pity for you 
awakened a deeper, more solemn sentiment in my 
heart.—The fact has been gradually dawning upon me 
—that I love you. Will you marry me Mrs. Weis?” 

The sudden and unexpected proposal of marriage 


260 


WOODEN WIVES 


from a man whom she had not scarcely given a second 
thought to, fairly took her breath away; she saw that 
he was deeply agitated, meaning every word he had 
uttered. 

“I know this is very sudden,’’ he said, “and I do 
not expect you will give me my answer here and now; 
—that would be asking too much. Will you take a 
few days to consider it?” 

She covered her face with her hands. He knew she 
was weeping;—he could see the tears trickling through 
the white fingers. “In two days, I shall come for my 
answer; should it be ready before that time, you know 
where to find me. I am leaving you, dearest of women, 
with a heart full of hope.” 

With these words he was gone, leaving Pauline so 
stunned with astonishment she hardly knew if she had 
heard aright. 

He looked in at the boy, as he went, declaring to 
Grandma, “he was fine and fit now, to get into the 
sunshine”; a decision which caused the lad the greatest 
of joy. After gaining his mother’s permission, Grand¬ 
ma buttoned him into his warmest little jacket, despite 
the fact that the day was mild, and sent him down to 
the street,—admonishing him, however, that he must 
not go far away form the door-step. 

Once out in the sunshine again, the boy fell to 
thinking of—Daddy, and wondering if he would pass. 
There was a longing in his little heart to see him,— 
look up into his kindly face, feel the touch of his 
strong, but gentle hands. Suddenly a fear seized him. 
Daddy had spoken of going away—leaving the city 


THE WEB OF FATE 


261 


and going back to his home; had he gone without 
coming to say—Good-bye to him! Would the long 
years come and go—and he would never see him again? 
Great tears blinded Little Paul's eyes at the thought. 

“I wouldn’t want to get well and live—if I were 
never to see Daddy again/’ he sobbed, sighs welling 
up from the depths of his sore, troubled little heart. 

At that self-same moment Marcelle was standing at 
her window in the hotel, looking moodily out at the 
sunshine. She had not heard him mention one word 
since, concerning the adoption papers, but she knew 
from his happy manner everything must be progress¬ 
ing favorably. 

i ‘That boy has come between Daniel and me,” she 
ruminated, “I wonder if there is yet time to formulate 
some plan—to prevent it.” 

Standing here, a daring thought came to her. 

“I wonder if it—could be carried out,” she breathed 
excitedly. Her thoughts were interrupted at that mo¬ 
ment by the entrance of a maid with fresh towels. 
Marcelle called to her. 

“Do you know where—Crowds Alley is?” she in¬ 
quired. 

Oh yes, the girl knew—it was some blocks away, 
near the water front. 

“I suppose it is inhabited by very rough people,” 
commented Marcelle. 

“No, lady, I can’t say that!” replied the girl,—“it’s 
mostly poor working people who live in those tene¬ 
ments; poor, but honest;—it gets its qeuer reputation 
—on account of its name—Crow’s Alley.” 


262 


WOODEN WIVES 


“Yon probably know some of the people living 
there!” ventured Marcelle. 

“Yes, a few of them,” she answered. “An old violin 
player whom, they said, had been very famous when 
he was in his prime, but now—no one wanted him, 
and he could scarcely find enough to do to keep body 
and soul together; he would accept no aid, though 
they did say many a day he was—hungry.” 

She had talked glibly, but Marcelle had not been 
listening. She had not heard a word. Her attention 
was instantly arrested, when, among others the maid 
mentioned knowing a poor family on the top floor;— 
a poor old lace-mender, and her daughter and grand¬ 
son. 

“The daughter is a perfect lady,” went on the girl, 
adding:—“and she is as pretty as she is good; her 
little boy, a cross-sweep, who sells papers at odd times, 
is just the cutest, finest looking youngster you ever 
saw. They do say, a very rich gentleman who is stop¬ 
ping at this hotel is greatly taken with him. Wouldn’t 
it be strange—and romantic, ma’am, if the rich gent 
and the lace-mender’s daughter should meet, fall in 
love with each other—and marry?” 

Marcelle paled to the lips in spite of her rouge. How 
strange that this maid—should put into words—the 
very thought that had been troubling her all day. 

The girl noted she was interesting the lady, and 
went on:—“The little boy’s mother mends for this 
hotel. She has been doing some lace pieces which the 
housekeeper is anxiously waiting for. She has been 
ill, but is working away on them again—she will fetch 
them here—tonight.” 


THE WEB OP FATE 263 

Marcelle bent forward listening intently; her lips 
parted,—a smouldering gleam in her black eyes. 

“Will you tell the house-keeper that I should like 
to see this young woman when she comes here tonight ? 
I—I—have a very valuable piece of lace slightly tom. 
I will pay her well—if she will mend it—at once.” 

“Certainly,—I'll gladly tell her, ma’am, the poor 
soul would be glad to get thet work, I’m sure.” 

“You must not forget,” said Marcelle, slipping a bill 
into the maid’s hand. 

“I will bring her to your apartment myself, ma’am,” 
she replied. 

Left to herself, Marcelle sat down and began to for¬ 
mulate a plan to outwit Daniel Weslow in his intention 
to adopt this strange young woman’s boy. 

Marcelle had wealth aplenty at her command—the 
Rae million;—and she told herself money could ac¬ 
complish anything—everything. 

She would give the young woman to understand, 
by insinuations, if not in words, that the man who 
desired to take her little son from her, was a most 
desperate character;—all that was bad and untrust¬ 
worthy; that his wealth was a myth, and, under his 
merciless brutality, the boy would not live a year. 
With such a picture before her, no woman would sign 
an adoption paper. 

Should the woman show keen disappointment at the 
turn of her hopes, Marcelle intended to show great 
sympathy for her, and propose to become her benefac¬ 
tor herself,—if she, the old grand-ma, and the boy 
would leave San Francisco without an hour’s delay. 


264 


WOODEN WIVES 


A goodly sum of ready cash, which she had about 
her, would cause her to accept. She would buy tickets 
for the trio to Chicago. She did not care what they 
did, or what became of them—if that distance divided 
them. 

Counting her cash, she found she had a little over a 
thousand dollars about her. She would give them the 
entire amount, considering herself lucky if she got off 
that cheap. 

Marcelle looked so bright and gay when Daniel met 
her at dinner that he looked at her in wonder. Her 
smile w r as sparkling, her laughter contagious and her 
merry wit spontaneous. 

Daniel was not in love with Marcelle, but as he 
looked at her, he could not help but note she was an 
unusually attractive young woman—whom most any 
man would be proud of. He wished for her sake, that 
he could have more affection for her,—or, that she 
had elected to marry some other man who would be 
more suitable for her. 

To her great surprise, he asked her if she would like 
to hear the concert which was to be given in the parlor 
that evening. 

She was obliged to decline, though she would have 
given the world to have sat by his side the entire 
evening, but the matter on hand was by far more im¬ 
portant;—it meant happiness, or unhappiness for her 
in her future. 

The boy's love for Daniel, and his affection for the 
lad, were thorns in her heart;—it behooved her, in 
spite of anything else,—to get the boy out of the way. 


THE WEB OF FATE 


265 


After they had disappeared, let Daniel rave and 
storm as much as he liked, it would not mend matters 
for him. He would not be able, in all probability to 
trace their whereabouts.—He would think the mother 
had changed her mind about allowing a stranger to 
adopt her boy, and had gone away—that there might 
be no more about it. 

Marcelle retired promptly to her room—to watch 
and await the coming of the mother of little Paul. She 
drew the pink silk shades closer over the electric bulbs 
that her face might be in as much shadow as possible. 

4 4 She must not recognize me—if she should ever see 
me again ,’ 1 she ruminated, taking down her long coils 
of blue-black coffeured hair and drawing it back 
plainly from her forehead, pinning it back in a simple 
coil at the nape of her neck, and donning the simplest 
and least effective house gown in her wardrobe. 

These arrangements had certainly metamorphosed 
her. Looking into the long pier glass, she exclaimed 
half aloud with a shudder, “I could not have believed 
I could have looked so old and unattractive ;—I should 
not have known myself. The reflection in the mirror 
fascinated her. 

At that moment, weak as she was, little Paul’s 
mother was putting on her hat and coat to carry the 
lace to the housekeeper of the Palace hotel. It was 
the first time she had come near disappointing in de¬ 
livering her work. 

44 You are not fit to go, even now, dearie;—you 
should let me go in your stead,” declared Grand-ma, 
laying a detaining hand on the girl’s arm. 


266 


WOODEN WIVES 


Lena smiled faintly. “I am inured to hardships— 
I’ll not mind it; the walk will do me good.” 

“Not when yon have just gotten out of a sick bed; 
if we hadn’t a bite in the house to eat, that would be 
necessity enough,” said Grand-ma, adding:—“Little 
Paul has slipped down to the door—to coax you to 
take him along.” 

“I shall not take him with me—unless he begs so hard 
I cannot find it in my heart to say him nay,” replied 
Lena, a faint smile curving her lips as she turned away. 

“I shall have some nice hot, nourishing soup for you 
dearie, when you get back,” said Grandma. “I never 
council taking food late in the evening, but I make 
this an exception; something tells me you will be need¬ 
ful of it.” 

4 ‘How good you are to me grandma,—and to little 
Paul too,” she murmured, kissing the wrinkled old 
face fondly? “This is grandma’s birthday,—sixty to¬ 
day,—when one is so very, very old as that, she should 
do nothing but fold her toil-weary hands—and just— 
rest,” she thought. 

A moment later she was wending her way down the 
narrow stairs to the street. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

CAN ONE WHO HAS TRULY LOVED,—EVER FORGET? 

“I’ll no say men are villaina a’ 

The real, hardened, wicked, 

Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked. ’ ’ 

Pauline did not see little Paul when she reached the 
street, deciding she had missed him by his going np 
the rear stairs to their rooms. 

The boy had not gone upstairs, but lay curled up in 
a large dry-goods box on the sidewalk, peering out 
of a knot-hole, watching for his mother, when two 
rough looking men, walking slowly, past, paused, rest¬ 
ing their arms on the box which sheltered him. 

The child afraid of rough men, kept very quiet, wait¬ 
ing for them to pass on. This they seemed in no hurry 
to do. There was that unmistakable something in both 
faces that awoke fear in the heart of the boy. 

The heavier and darker of the two men was doing 
the talking;—the other, the listening. 

“Ill tell you what, Reardon/’ said the dark man, 
bringing his heavy closed fist down fiercely upon the box, 
—“the fact of finding Weslow in San Francisco, will 
play havoc with our plans; he appears to have a strong 
notion of staying here permanently;—that must not 
be.—Tomorrow our great story of the great Alaska 
gold mining—get-rich-quick scheme, will be out in all 
the papers. It’s on the press, too late to hold it back. 
267 


268 


WOODEN WIVES 


Wcslow will be the first one to see it, and characterize 
it as a nation wide swindle;—that means a prick in 
our toy balloon, and the collapse in an hour of the 
gigantic scheme which would have brought us in a 
fortune from the gullys and the guys in the course 
of a few days.” 

“I feared the collapse of the thing the moment you 
told me Weslow was headed for this port. What do you 
propose to do about it, Boyd?” 

“ Weslow—must—not be in San Francisco when the 
morning papers come out;—that’s the long and the 
short of it.” 

“What’s your plan to bring this about?” queried* 
Reardon. 

“He must go,—with no come-back to it. I’ve located 
the window of his room at the hotel;—I was giving 
that careful study when I discovered he comes out just 
before dinner, every night for a smoke—to a little jut 
of land a little distance from the hotel, sitting on a 
large rock.—He smokes and looks intently out to sea 
—sometimes an hour or more,—enjoying the solitude, 
as it were—for no one else seems to go there, save 
laborers, earlier in the day, engaged in repairing an 
adjacent stone break-water. ” 

“Well,” said Reardon, eyeing his companion stead¬ 
ily, “the plan.” 

Boyd smiled cynically. “A time-bomb buried in the 
sand at his feet, Bing! and Weslow would never inter¬ 
fere with our affairs again.” 

“Who will attend to this important part of your 
programme, Boyd.” 


CAN ONE WHO HAS TRULY LOVED,—EVER FORGET ? 269 

“You,” was the retort, “and you have not a moment 
to lose.” 

“I refuse!” declared Reardon brusquely. “I take 
equal risks in the get-rich-quick scheme,—but your 
rough-neck plans,—Huh, you’ll get someone else to do. 
I am going at once on board the tug.” 

The other argued; Reardon was steadfast. “I’ve 
made up my mind,” he said doggedly;—“I’m in the 
Alaska scheme with you, that settled, we part company 
for good and all.” 

Boyd laughed loud and long. “Since when has 
Reardon, the worst crook in the west;—train hold-up 
man, forger of papers,—sinner in general—turned 
saint?” he sneered. 

“My old mother, lying very ill in Oklahoma City,— 
has sent for me,” responded Reardon huskily, adding: 
—“I am going to her within the next few days. When 
I—stand in her presence—I’ll have shaken off the old 
life, and—approach her bedside—worthy of her for¬ 
giveness. She suspects I’ve not been going straight.” 

“If we make a pile of money in the Alaska gold 
mine—get-rich-quiek scheme,—maybe you’ll turn your 
share over to the heathen Chinee, or some charity,— 
eh? I fancy you’ll soon recover from this attack of— 
goodness;—You know:— 

' { When the devil got sick, the devil a monk would be; 

When th 7 devil got well, th 7 devil a monk was he . 77 

“But,” continued Boyd, “if that’s th’ way you feel 
about it, I’ll attend to the little affair concerning Wes- 
low, myself, you can watch the result from the deck 


270 


WOODEN WIVES 


of the ‘Mary Ann. , ” So saying, Boyd turned on his 
heel, striding rapidly down the street;—his companion 
moving away in an opposite direction. 

Little Paul had heard; not a word had escaped him; 
he knew all about bombs; all the urchins in Crow’s 
Alley had heard the long-shoremen around that vici¬ 
nity, discussing them, and the result of their having 
been planted on land as well as sea. 

He gathered that the heavy, dark man meant ill to 
—Daddy. He remembered in that moment what had 
never occurred to him before;—that many gentlemen 
on the street, and in the restaurant, had called him— 
Mr. Weslow;—he had completely forgotten that until 
now. 

A bomb was to be placed by the rock where he sat 
and smoked; that was quite enough for him to hear. 
He forgot all about wanting to go with his mother,— 
the one thought that filled his mind was to run to— 
Daddy—and tell him—what the men had said;—alt he 
remembered of it was about the bomb. He knew 
where the place was, and thither he hurried as quickly 
as his little legs could carry him. 

In the meantime, with swift strides, Boyd reached 
his objective point;—it annoyed him to see his tug 
boat “The Mary Ann,” hugging the shore so closely; 
it was within easy calling distance. He hallowed to 
the mate to move back out of range of any rock 
splinters. 

The mate nodded, but he had no intention of obey¬ 
ing that order, for they were making ready to come on 
shore presently. 


CAN ONE WHO HAS TRULY LOVED,—EVER FORGET ? 271 

Reardon had reached the tug, and was sitting mood¬ 
ily on deck, smoking a long, black cigar, too much 
engrossed in his own thoughts to even look up, or 
bother concerning what Boyd was giving directions 
about. Reardon was still a rogue, but—a repenting 
one. In summing up the situation, he had decided 
that the men who live by their wits, were always 
hanging onto the ragged edge of danger of discovery, 
—they could not look the world in the face, unafraid. 

Boyd made all haste from the spot at which he had 
called out frowning grimly as he replaced his watch 
in his pocket. 

He had traversed but a few rods, when, hurrying 
around a sudden turn in the path, he came face to face 
with a young woman advancing quite as quickly from 
the opposite direction. 

He passed her. 

What was there about that delicate face, framed 
in a sheen of golden hair that caused him to pause 
abruptly, and look back at her. 

“Pauline! By all that is wonderful!” he exclaimed 
in amazement. 

Pauline, for it was she, paused, and involuntarily 
glanced at the man who stood quite still regarding her, 
—utternig her name in a familiar voice. 

iC l see I am not recognized,” he said with a short 
rasping laugh.—“I do not wonder;—time has treated 
me roughly, playing havoc with me.” 

She looked at the man in troubled wonder. She 
could not recall the rough, weather-beaten face, which 
the bristling black beard caused to appear formidable, 


272 


WOODEN WIVES 


to say the least;—but—there was something familiar 
about the bold black eyes that held her spell-bound. 

“So—you did not perish in the wreck,—as you al¬ 
lowed every one to assume!” he said gruffly—“I am 
pleased that you did not.” 

Now she knew him, and the startled cry—“Hugh 
Boyd!” broke from her lips. 

“The same, my dear Pauline,” he returned. “Our 
meeting at the French ball was rudely brought to an 
abrupt close that memorable evening;—let me see— 
how long ago was it,—some seven years ago, I fancy.” 

Pauline was staring at him with horrified eyes. 

“I have no wish to continue this conversation,” she 
returned, with dignity, “I had hoped we would never 
meet again.”—She was about to pass on, but he sud¬ 
denly grasped her arm. 

“Not so soon, my fair Pauline!” he cried with 
darkening brows. “Do you imagine for a moment that 
I shall permit you to leave me—until after we have 
had a long talk;—come to an understanding?” 

“I have nothing to say to you, nor will I remain 
here; every word you utter is but an insult to my ears, 
Hugh Boyd.” 

“This—from—a—girl—who once loved me—with all 
the intense love of her heart!” he sneered. “Who 
would have thought the love you then vowed you had 
for me,—could—ever die!” 

“That belonged to the dead past,” declared Pauline 
haughtily,—“I soon found out what you were, and I 
thanked God that foolish,—girlish affair had been 
nipped in the bud.—When you tricked me with—those 


CAN ONE WHO HAS TRULY LOVED,—EVER FORGET ? 273 

forged papers,—the evening I went to you to execute 
a deed of mercy, honorably and nobly,—I discovered 
how low you had fallen,—to—deliberately cheat—a 
woman—leaving me—penniless, and I abhorred you, 
wondering how the good Lord lets such men—live.” 

“ Harsh words, Pauline,” he answered, but:—. 
“ Sticks and stones might break my bones,—but words 
can never harm me.” 

“Unhand me sir!” cried Pauline trembling with 
anger, “how dare you address one word to me,—after 
robbing me,—and—sending me out a wanderer in the 
world as well,—to live through it,—or die,—as Heaven 
saw fit.”—“Let go my arm!” 

“You are giving me more blame than I am really 
entitled to, bad as you are making me out.—You shall 
not pass on until I have had my say,” he declared— 
“and the first thing I want to impress upon you is,— 
the scheme of having you sign the wrong papers, was 
not my scheme,—but Reardon’s. He’s a lawyer you 
know,—and he had a deep grudge not only against 
Weslow,—but yourself as well;—I never fully under¬ 
stand exactly—why.” 

“Reardon,—the lawyer—of—Oklahoma City!” she 
echoed, the memory of the last time she had ever seen 
him—when she had forcibly ejected him from the auto¬ 
mobile, coming back to her with a rush. 

“I was his tool—regarding those papers,” declared 
Boyd. “The fortune I reaped so unfairly, was lost at 
faro, over in Paris, in less than a year afterward, be¬ 
lieve me. You will have it, I see, that I insulted you 
that” evening at the French ball,—but I want you to 


274 


WOODEN WIVES 


judge me fairly—impartially,—was it really an insult 
to you to crave to hold you, when I had loved so 
madly, and lost so, unfairly.—You who had loved me 
with all the sweet virgin love of your heart—in my 
arms in the dance—for just a few blissful moments? 
I am only human; I was mad at the sight of you;— 
mad at the thought you had passed out of my life— 
forever. My God! think Pauline, was my forcing you 
to dance with me—such a grievous wrong to you?” 

She looked at him steadily; her blue eyes darken¬ 
ing with anger. 

“As I have remarked—the past—is—past, Hugh 
Boyd. You have no part in my present life—nor—my 
—future.” 

‘ ‘ That is what you say, I say differently. Looking at 
you,—hearing your voice again—even though it be in 
anger, is arousing all my old longing for you;—I did 
not know myself, then,—that I cared as much as I did. 
—You shall love me as you did in the old days.—You 
and you alone, Pauline, can—transform me from a 
sinner into as near a saint as it is possible for me to 
be;—isn’t that worth—trying.” 

“Every word you utter is an insult,” she declared. 
“I am the wife of Daniel Weslow;—as such, I refuse 
to listen to another word, Hugh Boyd.” 

“When did you see Weslow—to talk matters over 
with him?” he asked. 

The question was put to her with such abruptness, 
she quite forgot she had the right of not answering 
him, and she replied in a voice fairly choking with 
stifled tears: “Not since he took me from the—ball- 


CAN ONE WHO HAS TRULY LOVED,—EVER FORGET ? 275 

room—and—you,—that night, a little over seven years 
ago.” 

He looked at her aghast!—Was she attempting to 
deny that she knew what all San Francisco knew,— 
that Weslow was in the city, stopping at the very hotel 
she was advancing toward, when he intercepted her? 

By dint of skilfully applied questioning,—he soon 
became convinced she was speaking the truth—they 
had not run across each other yet. 

He also discovered that she had been very ill from 
the wreck for many weeks, directly after which,—she 
had left the scene of her sorrows,—coming as far as 
trains could carry her—to the extreme end of the far 
west,—and here she had been ever since—toiling for 
her support,—and—even at that moment—she was 
taking home some of the work she had just finished— 
to the house-keeper of the Palace hotel. 

Somehow, Pauline could not bring herself to speak 
to this man of her little son, her little Paul. 

“Somehow—jl—believe you,” he said, “and on one 
condition I will let you go on your way, and that is, 
to tell me where you are living that I may come and 
talk over—a proposition to you. You may trust me 
this time,—Pauline,—I will come to your door, and if 
you say, ‘Come in/ I will enter; if you say,—‘Stand 
outside, and say what you have come here to say/— 
so be it.—outside I will stay. Is there anything I can 
say or do to cause you to believe me, Pauline?” 

For a moment she was silent, and in that moment 
she was asking Heaven to guide and direct her,—and 
her God to take care of her. She wanted to get away 


276 


WOODEN WIVES 


from him to have time to think. She wanted to hurry 
home to talk it over with Grandma—and abide by her 
decision after she had heard all. 

Hesitatingly she gave him her address,—top floor, 
Crow’s Alley. 

He loosened his hold of her arm—thus freed, she 
sped on, realizing Boyd was still standing there watch¬ 
ing after her. 

Would he wait there to intercept her on her way 
back ?—She knew of another route, by the big rock at 
the water’s edge;—she would return that way, and 
by doing so, avoid him, she concluded. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD 

“Dear, forget me! Why should sorrow 
O’er thy brow a shadow fling? 

Love, forget me, and tomorrow 

Brightly smile and sweetly sing; * 

Smile—tho’ I shall not be near thee.” 

Little Paul took the short cut to the big rock; great 
was his joy, on nearing it, to see his friend seated 
there. His back was toward him, and he was en¬ 
veloped in a cloud of smoke from his cigar, but the 
boy knew him. 

Daniel Weslow was looking far out over the waters, 
thinking of the lad when he suddenly appeared before 
him. 

“Why, how are you, Sonny?” he exclaimed de¬ 
lightedly, bending forward and placing his hands on 
the boy’s shoulders. “I was just thinking about you 
—wishing I could see you, and lo! you suddenly ap¬ 
pear before me in answer to my wish. But tell me, 
what brought you here? You are not in the habit of 
looking for me in this out of the way place.” 

“I came for a big ball, daddy,” answered little Paul 
eagerly;—it’s there, somewhere by the big rock you’re 
sitting on.” 

Daniel arose hastily, saying, somewhat mystified:— 
“You’ve lost your ball, Sonny,—how did it get away 
here?” 


277 


278 


WOODEN WIVES 


“& big, ugly man hid it there/’ declared the little 
fellow anxiously. 

“A man took it away from a mite of a chap like 
you, and hid it! echoed Daniel. * 1 Just sit down on the 
sand here, and I’ll look for it for you;—in case we 
don’t find it, you’re going to have a finer, bigger ball 
—so don’t look so worried, Son.” 

“I’ve got t’ get that un ,” declared Paul,—“/ know 
where to find it an’ you don’t, Daddy.” 

Smiling, Daniel arose from the rock. It pleased him 
to humor the boy. He paced up and down, Meanwhile 
the boy began a vigorous search around the rock 

“Better not waste any more time;—it don’t seem to 
be there,” he called out to little Paul, at length. But, 
at that moment, the urchin, with a cry of delight, espied 
the object of his search. 

“Found it, eh?” said Daniel laughingly, as he saw 
the lad dragging at a rather good sized black ball which 
had been buried in the sand, directly beneath his feet— 
where he had been sitting. 

“Stay there, Daddy,” called the boy, “I’m getting 
it!” 

Weslow knit his brows together angrily; he was won¬ 
dering how a grown man could find it in his heart to 
wrest a lad’s ball from him, because of his superior 
strength, and bury it where he would never be able to 
find it. He would have liked to have cuffed the fellow 
soundly, for thus tormenting a child. He was rather 
amused at the boy’s pluck in determining to recover 
it unaided. 

“Sonny,” he called, “come here, I want to talk to 


THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD 279 

you.” To his amusement, the hoy left the ball lying 
there, and came running to him. 

“Yes, Daddy,” he said, looking up into Daniel’s face 
with a happy smile. 

“We will walk up and down while we talk,” said 
Daniel, taking the little hand in his, and moving toward 
the mainland. 

“I want you to tell me—if you missed me—during 
these few days you did not see me?” he interrogated. 
He had never waited for an answer so eagerly in all his 
life. 

“Oh, yes!” declared little Paul, his grasp tightening 
around the strong hand that held his own. “I cried a 
lot, I wanted you so much.” 

“You did!” exclaimed Daniel, a sudden thrill sweep¬ 
ing through his heart,—“Would you have been sorry— 
never to have seen me again?” 

The blue eyes that looked up into his own, suddenly 
brimmed over with big tears that rolled down the round 
red cheeks. 

“I would find you—sometime—wherever you went, 
daddy,—I would save every penny I could—until I had 
enough to go to look for you,” was the reply, uttered 
through sobs. 

“Bless your dear little heart!” cried Daniel catching 
the boy in his arms and holding him close to his tumul¬ 
tuously beating heart. “You are the only human being 
in all this hard, cold world who has ever loved me;—ever 
longed for me to be near.” He kissed the little up¬ 
turned face over and over again, noting that the 
youngster cuddled down contentedly in his embrace,— 


280 


WOODEN WIVES 


as though the ship of his heart, and hopes had entered 
harbor. 

“You are going to be my little boy from this time 
on,” said Daniel, gently as he placed him on his feet. 
“We will walk up and down while I tell you about it;— 
would you like that ? ’ ’ 

Little Paul acquiesced gleefully, and for the time be¬ 
ing, the ball was entirely forgotten by both. 

“Your mother has consented that I may take you 
away with me when I go;” said Daniel, “and I’ll pro¬ 
mise her that you shall not be obliged to remain in your 
new home—with me,—unless you are so perfectly happy. 
You would not want to go back to the home you now 
have, and the life you are now leading. We are going— 
the end of the week, Sonny.” 

Little Paul clapped his hands delightedly. 

“There’ll be a lady going with us,” he went on 
slowly, “but you must not mind that, my boy; I am sure 
you will be able to win your way to her heart—but it 
may take a little time, for she’s thinking—I have a little 
more affection in my heart for—you—than for her;— 
and I guess that’s about right,” he added soto-voice, 
and with a sigh that was half a laugh. 

“Is th’ lady—Muzzy?” queried little Paul excitedly. 

Daniel shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, “I have 
never seen your Muzzy ; I’ve heard from the doctor who 
went to see you—and—her, that she is a very good 
woman; indeed,—she must be,—to be the mother of— 
you.” 

“But what are you going to do with Muzzy?” insisted 
the boy earnestly. 


THE LOVE OP A LITTLE CHILD 281 

“She’ll be taken care of, most comfortably;—she and 
your good grandmother; arrangements to that effect are 
under way, my boy, so that worry will not be on your 
mind,—either now,—or in the years to come. Can you 
comprehend?—I mean, can you understand all I am 
trying to explain to you?” 

“I—think so,” replied the boy dubiously. “We are 
all going away from Crow’s Alley,—to live with you, 
daddy.” 

“Would you—really want it so?” asked Daniel 
thoughtfully. 

“Oh, yes, yes! that would make me an 7 Muzzy and 
grandma oh, so happy,” cried the lad enthusiastically. 

“I might have known it would end that way—when 
the time for parting came,—but then, after all—it is 
nature crying out in the heart of the boy , 77 he rumi¬ 
nated.—“ I must change my plans that the two so near 
his heart can go along too, if I would make his happiness 
complete . 7 7 He continued:— 

“I’ll have a talk with your mother myself, and see 
what can be done—I am sure some satisfactory arrange¬ 
ments can be arrived at. You see you have crept into 
my heart so completely, and wedged yourself so firmly 
there, I can’t part with you, my bov.” 

Again the child’s clasp tightened around his hand— 
which had trembled a little in spite of his usual control 
of himself. 

“You could see Muzzy right away,” declared little 
Paul, “ she’s on her way to th’ big hotel to take home 
some work, an’ you can ask her.” 

“Why, that is certainly fortunate,” replied Daniel, 


282 


WOODEN WIVES 


“I understand she was too ill to be seen—that is the 
reason I delayed talking this matter over with her. Not 
having ever seen yonr mother, I would not know her;— 
you must come along with me and point her out to me. ’ ’ 

* ‘ She isn’t there yet; she’s coming by the other road, 
and won’t be there for an awful long time yet; can’t we 
stay here until I catch sight of her?—she’ll come by the 
stone wall over there.” 

“Yes, certainly—we’ll stay right here by all means,” 
replied Daniel—“that suits me perfectly. Your mother 
and I—and you, will get together right here—and have 
a long talk—and settle it some way to make—you—con¬ 
tented;—but—don’t send me away—without you, will 
you, Sonny?” 

“No,” replied the boy firmly, “I want to be with you 
always and always, daddy dear,” piped the childish 
Voice tremulously. 

Daniel Weslow looked down at him wistfully,—intent¬ 
ly. 

Marcelle had set her mind on going to Alaska on their 
wedding trip to look over his possessions there;—other¬ 
wise, at the eleventh hour, he might try once more to 
persuade her to remain with him, for the present in San 
Francisco. He had written a long letter to Mrs. Bemis, 
telling her all about his marriage which was so soon to 
take place,—and also of the little urchin he had come 
across—for whom he had developed such fondness, and 
had secured the right to adopt. The dear old friend 
of his early life might have the power, if any one could, 
to coax Marcelle into acquiescing—He expected Mrs. 
Bemis in a day or so. 


THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD 283 

The dear old soul might call it a mad notion—to adopt 
the child of a stranger;—a boy of whose parentage he 
knew absolutely nothing;—but—when she looked down 
into the innocent face of little Paul, her heart would 
warm to him instantaneously, and she would no longer 
wonder at the great attraction his personality caused in 
Daniel’s lonely, seared heart. 

Everything rested with Marcelle;—she was sure to 
raise a fine row if he took the boy’s mother and grand¬ 
mother along with them on their honeymoon trip,—and 
equally as big a row if he insisted that they pass their 
honeymoon at the hotel in San Francisco. 

He depended upon Mrs. Bemis’ ingenuity to find a 
way out of the tangle. 

The boy’s mother had already signed the adoption 
paper, which had gone back to his lawyer for the pur¬ 
pose of recording, and had been handed to him as he 
was leaving the hotel. He had intended examining it 
when he finished his cigar;—the unexpected appearance 
of little Paul had caused it to remain in his pocket 
unopened, until a more propitious time for reading it 
had arrived. 

“That must be Muzzy now!” exclaimed the child, as 
he caught sight of a skirted figure approaching by the 
stone wall, some little distance off. “Wont you call her, 
Daddy, when she comes nearer, or shall I run and fetch 
her to you?” 

Daniel looked in the direction indicated, and saw to 
his dismay, and annoyance—it was—Marcelle. He 
knew her walk, and the red parasol but too well. 

She was looking in an opposite direction, and he was 


284 


WOODEN WIVES 


quite sure she had not observed them. He did not in¬ 
tend that she should. 

“That’s not your mother, Sonny,” he said quietly, 
“ she’s the lady who is to go with us to Alaska.—The 
person—whom daddy—is to marry.” 

The lad had keen eyesight; he had been peering hard 
at the approaching figure. Suddenly he turned to 
Daniel with a little cry of fright. 

“She’s the one—who said I stole her purse—when I 
didn’t!” he whispered, shrinking close to Daniel for 
protection. “You wont let her harm me, will you, 
Daddy?” 

“Certainly not!” responded Daniel, patting his head 
reassuringly,—“never while I live, shall any one mis¬ 
treat you; a blow aimed at you—would hit me—first.” 

To Daniel’s intense relief, Marcelle passed on without 
glancing in their direction;—the boy noticed this too. 
“She wont come out here,” he said,—“It looks that 
way,” returned Daniel, smiling down into the anxious, 
troubled little face that bore such a frightened expres¬ 
sion. 

The truth was, Marcelle was so intent upon getting 
back to the hotel in order not to miss the boy’s mother, 
who was to come to the housekeeper with the mended 
lace,—and so busy planning the inducements she should 
hold out to her—to leave San Francisco, at once,—that 
she did not look around and about her, or she could not 
have helped seeing Daniel Weslow and the urchin whom 
she so despised, who was clinging to his hand. 

“I was successful in parting Daniel from Pauline_ 

when I sent him that letter in a disguised hand,—direct- 


THE LOVE OF A LITTLE CHILD 


285 


mg him to find her—at the—French ball.—I will be 
successful in parting him from this street-gamin for 
whom he has developed such an unheard of fondness/' 
Marcelle mused, pressing her white teeth down so hard 
on her red lip that it showed the prints of it. 

There was a second figure approaching, but as yet too 
far off for either Daniel or little Paul to distinguish. 
It was Pauline. Like Marcelle, she was walking 
slowly, her head bent down, for she was lost in deep 
thought. 

It occurred to her that she must interview the stranger 
of whom her boy was so fond; and of whom he talked 
incessantly by day, and dreamed of by night. She had 
signed the adoption paper when she was so ill the law¬ 
yer ’s- clerk had had to hold the pen in her nerveless 
hand, and her eyes were so blurred by tears she could 
not discern a line of it. 

Surely, it could make no material difference to this 
stranger if she were to tell him she had changed her 
mind, and, falling on her knees at his feet, beg him not 
to hold her to it—for she could not, even after all that 
was said and done—part with her darling boy,—and 
live. 

Surely he would hear and heed the cry of a mother’s 
bleeding heart; she would work for little Paul to the 
last hour of her strength and life—she would live for 
him alone,—but—oh,—She COULD NOT—give him up. 

She was not conscious of a dark form dogging her 
steps; it was Boyd;—He, too, was so engrossed in watch¬ 
ing Pauline that he did not look either to the right—or 
to the left. He had mistrusted her statement that she 


286 


WOODEN WIVES 


was going to the hotel for the purpose of carrying to the 
housekeeper, lace she had been engaged to mend. 

“That’s all—a lie!” he muttered harshly, “Daniel 
Weslow is stopping there—it’s he she is going to see;— 
she has heard of the great wealth he has accumulated, 
and will effect a reconciliation with him. Women are 
mighty clever these days. But there shall be no mak¬ 
ing up between them;—I’ve already seen to that. Un¬ 
less my plan miscarries,—and I do not see how it can,— 
Daniel Weslow will soon be out of my path—and hers.” 

He laughed, the low, ugly laugh peculiar to him, rub¬ 
bing the palms of his hands together, his eyes fixed on 
Pauline. 

The years, and poverty had not made her the less 
dainty. She was still fair and lovely. 

Boyd quickened his pace. He had decided she should 
not enter the hotel—he would prevent her from doing 
so. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


LOVES TANGLED THREADS 

“With her, my love, have the years done well? 

Who shall answer,—who shall tell 
Sweet things or sad—such as no man hears 
May no tears fall—if tears ever fell 
From eyes more dear to me than starriest spheres 
These many years.” 

As Marcelle and her red parasol drew nearer, so near 
that Daniel could have called to her without raising his 
voice overmuch, the hoy turned suddenly to him, whisp¬ 
ering piteously:—“Shall I run away before she sees— 
and—catches me? Oh, daddy, Fs so 'fraid of her!” 

The terror in little Paul's voice stabbed Daniel's heart 
like the thrust of a knife. He wondered vaguely how 
they were ever to abide beneath the same roof in any¬ 
thing like harmony, when she disliked, so bitterly, the 
little fellow whom he so loved,—and who stood in such 
terror—of her. 

Again he assured himself that he must depend upon 
the ingenious Mrs. Bemis to smooth a way out of the 
difficulty, and adjust the tangled thread. 

“No, you mustn't run away, Sonny,—always be a 
brave little man and face danger,— : that's what I always 
did.” 

“But no lady ever hated you daddy, as that one does 
me!" persisted the boy. 


287 


288 


WOODEN WIVES 


A cloud crept over Daniel’s fine face, his lips 
twitched. “I think there was a lady,—a beautiful lady 
—rwho once despised me,—though God knows—I, never 
knew—why,—for I would have given my very life to 
have—pleased her,—to have brought a smile to her lips, 
or one kind word.” 

The boy was looking up into his face in wonder. 

‘ ‘ Then I will care for you twice as much, because of the 
love you wanted—and did not get,” whispered little 
Paul, stroking Daniel’s hand, laying his red cheek 
caressingly against it. 

Daniel was too moved for utterance at this token of 
affection, and the words that had sprung so quickly to 
those childish lips. 

He caught the little fellow once more in his arms, 
burying his face in his clustering golden hair, his strong 
breast heaving convulsively. 

“Bless you for those words, Sonny,” he whispered 
brokenly. “Only God knows how I hunger for love— 
hunger for it as a starving man hungers for a morsel of 
food,—a drowning man a straw to cling to; I have 
missed it, somehow, all the way through. I was becom¬ 
ing hardened, thought I should finish that way,—until 
I met you, lad;—then the fountain of affection which I 
thought had dried up,—gushed forth from my heart 
stronger than ever. Life would be over for me—if—I 
lost you, Sonny.” 

“But you are not going to lose me, daddy,” insisted 
little Paul, “when Muzzy comes along you are going to 
tell her how much you want me, and I want you— 
and—” suddenly he stopped short: “There she is 


LOVES TANGLED THREADS 289 

now!” he exclaimed with a cry of joy. “Mayn't I 
bring her here?” 

“Yes,” answered Daniel, inquiring in the next 
breath:—“Who is the man who has caught up to your 
mother, and is talking to her;—see, he has hold of her 
wrist,—and she appears to be endeavoring to wrench 
herself free from his hold, I should judge.” 

Little Paul’s eyes followed his gaze; they were very 
discerning, even at that distance. He uttered a sharp 
cry of alarm, a cry loud and piercing. 

“Oh, daddy!” he panted, “he’s th’ man who hid th’ 
ball by the rock.” Up to that moment little Paul had 
quite forgotten it. Like a flash he tore himself free from 
Daniel’s detaining hand, flying with the speed of a 
startled swallow over the sand to the rock. 

Daniel followed close at his heels surprised at the 
great terror he was exhibiting. 

Pauline heard the piercing cry of her boy, and looking 
in the direction from whence it proceeded, observed 
Little Paul flying over the sand, closely pursued by a 
tall man who seemed to be gaining upon him at every 
step. f 

Another cry more piercing echoed over the sand, this 
time it, was from the lips of Pauline. “Unhand me!” 
she screamed, pointing with her disengaged hand to the 
two swiftly running figures of the boy and the man, 
“some one is about to harm my—child! Paul!—oh Paul! 
my darling! Mother is coming!” 

“You don’t mean to tell me you are the mother of— 
a child!” cried Boyd harshly. “Speak!—whose is it! 
I will —know!” 


290 


WOODEN WIVES 


“Daniel’s—and mine!” she sobbed in terror. “Let 
me go or I shall scream for aid!” 

Following her gaze, Boyd saw who was running with 
the boy. 

“Weslow!” he ground out between his clenched 
teeth. “There’s a whole lot about this that I don’t 
understand, but I see it all now,—you had an appoint¬ 
ment to meet him here;—you knew he always went out 
to the rock to smoke at about this time;—but there’s 
something else that you didn’t know;—and a mighty 
something it will prove to be,—killing in less than a 
minute from now—two birds—instead of one,—and, you 
are going to witness it from right where we are stand¬ 
ing.” 

Pauline tried to cry out, but no sound issued from 
her white lips. 

“—A bomb lies at the bottom of the rock they are 
nearing, and where Weslow is wont to while the time 
away.” 

“Weslow—her husband—was with little Paul!—the 
husband she had not known the whereabouts of in all 
these years! She heard, as though in a dream. She 
could not stop to argue with Boyd. He had spoken of 
a bomb, at the rock which her boy had reached,—with 
the sole purpose of terrifying her. 

With superhuman effort she wrenched herself free 
from Boyd’s grasp screaming shrilly at the top of her 
voice, “Come here to mother, Paul!—come quickly to 
mother!” 

She knew he heard, but, instead of obeying, he stooped 
to pick up something from the sand. Daniel who was 


LOVES TANGLED THREADS 


291 


nearing the rock with swift steps, saw little Paul stoop, 
grasp the ball, which appeared to be quite heavy for his 
little arms!—In that awful instant, Daniel Weslow saw 
something that made the blood turn to ice in his veins, 
and his heart to stop beating; God!—it was a—bomb! 
his eyes bulged from their sockets, the cry of horror on 
his lips died away making no sound. 

There was yet a rod or more of space for him to cover 
ere he could reach the boy’s side, and tear it from him. 
He saw—and he wondered even in that instant of horror 
that he did not go mad at the sight,—that a thin line of 
smoke was issuing from the bomb,—another instant of 
time—and all would be over with the child who had 
turned to him a laughing face all unconscious of his 
danger. 

In that moment Daniel’s foot struck a jagged piece of 
rock and he was flung heavily upon his face upon the 
sand. 

Little Paul had climbed to the highest ledge of the 
rock and, with all his strength flung the ball out into the 
water. 

It fell directly on the deck of the Mary Ann. There 
was an instantaneous, frightful explosion, followed by 
shrieks, groans, and flying timbers. The Mary Ann 
plunged beam end down into the water, and began to 
settle. 

The noise of the explosion brought the workmen who 
had been laboring on the stone wall, quickly to the spot, 
and at that instant Pauline reached her boy, falling in 
a dead faint as she felt the clasp of his warm arms 
about her neck. 


292 


WOODEN WIVES 


Daniel Weslow had picked himself up, hut with diffi¬ 
culty ;—the fall had bruised, if not—sprained his ankle. 

“The boy! where is he!” he cried out in an agonized 
voice. 

At that moment he beheld him clasped close in a 
woman’s arms. 

He remembered little Paul had said his mother was 
coming toward them, as he pointed to the figure of a 
woman approaching swiftly, he knew it must be she. 
He bent over her pityingly, to take the boy gently from 
her arms. One look at her face, and his own grew white 
as death, an awful cry breaking from his lips. 

He drew back, his eyes fairly starting from their 
sockets. Could the grave give back its dead! Pauline— 
his wife—had lost her life in the terrible wreck of the 
Washington midnight Express—years ago. 

“Pauline!—no, no!—it cannot be she!” he cried, 
great beads of perspiration gathering on his face and 
rolling like rain down his ashen cheeks. 

Boyd, who had reached the spot on a run, was just in 
time to hear those words;—he knew by that, that 
Pauline and Weslow had not met since the fatal night 
she had left Washington. That he had believed her 
dead—and—she had NOT—undeceived him by making 
her presence known to him. A quick thought was born 
of this knowledge in his scheming brain—augmented by 
the sight of the blowing up of the Mary Ann by the boy, 
and by the bomb he had buried by the side of the rock 
to destroy the man who was now bending over Pauline, 
gazing down at her with bated breath. 

In his consternation, and amazement, Daniel Weslow 


LOVES TANGLED THREADS 


293 


had quite forgotten to summon aid to revive her. He 
quite believed himself to be the victim of a disordered 
optical illusion, or, suffering from a frightful dream 
from which he must awaken shortly. 

With a fierce imprecation, Boyd sprang forward be¬ 
tween Pauline and Weslow. 

“So!” he cried, “Pauline has been unfortunate 
enough to be discovered by you;—therefore, the secret 
which we have kept hidden so successfully for nearly 
eight years is out;—She did not die in the wreck; we 
fled together;—What are you going to do about it?” 

He uttered the falsehood boldly, realizing that Pau? 
line, who was still unconscious, was unable to refute it. 
It was a trump card of his own making, spurious though 
it was, he meant to play it for all it was worth. 

“Do!” echoed Daniel Weslow, his eyes blazing like 
coals of fire from his white face, 44 1 intend to—kill you, 
or you shall kill me; we will have it out, man to man— 
here and now.” 

44 That suits me!” cried Boyd with an oath, following 
Weslow ? s example of throwing off his coat and rolling 
up his sleeves. 

At that moment a cry broke from the lips of little 
Paul. 

The sound was like an electric shock to Daniel Wes¬ 
low. 

44 The boy—!” he cried hoarsely; the balance of the 
sentence stuck in his throat and choked him;—he could 
not put the question into words, as he pointed to the lad 
who was beginning to sob hysterically over the uncon¬ 
scious form. 


294 


WOODEN WIVES 


“Pauline’s—and—mine!” answered Boyd boldly, en¬ 
joying the intense suffering those words brought to 
Weslow; for a moment he quite believed they would take 
the very life from him, so keen was his anguish. 

At that instant little Paul ran to Weslow, throwing 
his arms about his knees, and looking piteously up into 
his face. 

“I can’t wake Muzzy up!” he whimpered, “wont you 
—try?” 

Daniel Weslow looked down into the little upturned 
face, so stirred by emotion he could scarcely refrain 
from groaning aloud. 

All in an instant he realized what the hitherto unex¬ 
plainable reason was—that had drawn his heart so 
forcibly to this boy;—he was—Pauline’s! He had been 
blind not to see the great resemblance when the boy had 
looked up into his face with Pauline’s eyes,—her smile, 
the magic touch of her hands,—her voice, her soft arms 
around his neck. 

This boy whom he had loved with a love that was 
next to divine,—this little lad whose companionship had 
been all in all to him, whom he had yearned for with a 
yearning and longing strong as life itself,—was—Pau¬ 
line’s son—and—Boyd’s. 

He wondered vaguely why he did not drop dead in 
the moment this cruel thing had been made known 
to him. 

“Come to me this instant!” cried Boyd to the lad. 
“You belong with me—not with him! Obey me or 
you’ll get a flogging from me that you’ll not soon for¬ 
get, I can tell you! ” 


LOVES TANGLED THREADS 295 

“No, no!” exclaimed the boy in affright. “You put 
the bomb there,—I saw you. 

“You wont let him hurt me, will you?” he added 
clinging closer to Weslow, still looking up into his face 
with tear wet eyes. 

Daniel Weslow shook his head;—he could not answer 
him. 

“A fine son to ask a stranger to protect him from his 
own father,” sneered Boyd with a harsh, coarse laugh. 
“His discipline has been neglected.” 

Attaches from the hotel had come hurriedly for 
Pauline, carrying her there; Daniel heard them say the 
doctor had been sent for in all haste, and was on his 
way there. He wondered that Boyd showed so little 
interest, not even looking as they took her away, nor 
uttering the slightest command to them. Poor Pauline! 
poor unhappy girl! what a life she must have led with 
this inhuman beast;—what a price she must have paid 
for the folly of her infatuation for him; he could have 
shed tears of blood for pity for her. 

“We’ll get the boy out of the way and settle our 
account in short order,” declared Boyd. Daniel Wes¬ 
low bowed assent. 

“I don’t want to go away, I want to stay wherever 
you are,” sobbed little Paul, clinging the closer to the 
one he loved so dearly. 

Boyd hurled a fierce imprecation at the lad, and was 
about to speak;—Daniel held up his hand warningly. 

“Iam taking leave of the little fellow,” he said, striv¬ 
ing to hide the anguish this knowledge brought him. 
“In a very few moments I will turn him over to you.” 


296 


WOODEN WIVES 


“Well, be quick about it;—though I consider it is 
merely a play for time.” 

Daniel Weslow did not hear, his thoughts were so 
confused. 

Boyd was glad of a few minutes respite before the 
battle commenced;—it would give him time to think, 
and plan. Without the Mary Ann to make a quick get¬ 
away, he was in dangerous straits. A price was on his 
head not only for being the most daring boot-legger 
along the Pacific coast, but for other deeds as well. He 
decided as soon as he had finished Weslow, which he 
estimated would be in about three rounds at most, he 
would grab the boy as a means of defense, in case he 
was recognized and fired upon when he defied the order 
to surrender. Yes, the boy would make a capital shield. 

Despite the rapid thinking he was doing, he kept a 
careful watch on Weslow and the boy, as he paced up 
and down between them and the hotel. 

He expected they would come at any moment to fetch 
the boy to his mother—she must be regaining conscious¬ 
ness. 

So wrapped up were Daniel and the boy in that bliss¬ 
ful moment they were alone together,—they thought 
only of each other. 

“Are you going to take Muzzy an’ me away, soon, 
Daddy?” he inquired wistfully, “I wish we could start 
right now.” 

Daniel shook his head, laying his two hands on the 
boy’s shoulders. “You—you are not going away with 
me, lad,” he whispered in a choked voice—“I am going 
to give you back to your mother.” As he spoke, he took 


LOVES TANGLED THREADS 297 

from his pocket the adoption paper, and with hands that 
trembled, tore it into shreds. 

“Ain’t I goin’ t’ be your little boy any more?” 
whispered little Paul. 

Daniel shook his head, whispering in a tear choked 
voice:— # 

“No, Sonny, I’m going to send you back to your ma— 
and—pa.” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


FORGET ME—IF YOU CAN 

“Oh love, young love, let saints and sinners Cavil as they will, 
One throb of yours is worth 
Whole worlds of ill .’ 7 

“Ain’t you goin’ t’ love me any more?” whispered 
little Paul looking up fearfully into the haggard face 
bending over him. 

“Love you!” echoed Daniel with a heavy, labored 
sigh that seemed to almost tear into shreds the sore heart 
that beat in his bosom, “I shall love you, boy,—until 
the hour God calls me. You are more to me than any¬ 
thing else under the blue Heavens;—the life, heart, and 
soul of me. In the hour I lay dying,—your name will 
be on my lips. My last prayer will be:—God,—watch 
over little—Paul.” 

“God wants YOU to watch over me—and Muzzy, 
too,” insisted the boy. “Ain’t we going away with 
you—like you said we were?” 

Daniel shook his head sorrowfully, saying slowly:— 
“It’s all over, lad,—that bright, sweet dream of ours,— 
all—over. There’s another who has a greater claim to 
you than I have.—I—I—didn’t know about—that,—all 
this time past;—that was kept from me;—they must 
have told you—not—to—tell. Is it not so ? ” 

The boy looked puzzled; he clung the closer to Daniel, 
reiterating over and over again that he never wanted to 
leave him; that he wanted to go wherever he went. ‘ ‘ I 
298 


FORGET ME—IF YOU CAN 


299 


only love Muzzy an’ you, an’ you an’ Muzzy, an’ Grand¬ 
ma, lie whispered, laying his red, tear-wet cheek against 
Daniel’s hand kissing it; and that touch of his lips, was 
like an electric current to the depths of his heart. 

Daniel realized, as the child did not—it was the hour 
of parting; Boyd had approached, and stood near, grim¬ 
ly watching them, his brows darkening ominously, as his 
clenched fists twisted themselves together. 

It was the hardest thing Daniel Weslow ever did in 
his life—to unclasp those little clinging hands from 
about his knees; it almost unmanned him to see the 
bitter tears roll down the boy’s cheeks, and hear him 
sob wildly:—“Oh, daddy, daddy, don’t send me from 
you. Your—little—boy,—your little—Sonny, loves you 
so.” 

With eyes blinded with tears which he could not re¬ 
press, and hands that trembled like aspen leaves,— 
Daniel slowly unclasped the clutching little fingers, put¬ 
ting the boy from him, whispering brokenly:—“You 
must go to your—father,—he will take you—to your 
ma.” 

“Wont you kiss me, daddy, before you send me away, 
—if you are not going to see me any more,” sighed little 
Paul. 

“Better not;—I couldn’t stand it,” muttered Daniel 
with a catch in his voice as he put the boy hastily from 
him. 

Boyd stepped forward, grasped the boy by the arm, 
flinging him so rudely from him the child fell face 
downward in the sand; fell and lay there. 

Boyd had contemplated that such an action would 


300 


WOODEN WIVES 


goad Weslow to the point of fury, and simultaneously 
both tore off their coats. The laborers who gathered 
around, making a ring about them, witnessed a battle 
royal such as they had never witnessed before. 

Boyd had miscalculated the strength and staying pow¬ 
ers of Daniel Weslow. He found he had an opponent to 
deal with, worthy of his skill. 

Boyd was getting the worst of it when they heard the 
shouts of men running toward them. 

* £ Police!” was the word that ran from lip to lip'. 
They dragged the belligerents, by main force apart. 

Boyd and Weslow sighted the police at the same in¬ 
stant. 

Weslow reached for his handkerchief in his trouser 
hip pocket. Boyd mistook the action for an attempt on 
the part of Weslow to draw a weapon, and, quick as a 
flash, he drew his own revolver from his hip pocket, 
pointing it full at his opponent, and fired. 

The police were near enough by this time to see 
exactly what had transpired. Boyd had caught sight 
of the foremost of them, and recognized them; they had 
long been searching for him;—now they had run him 
down to cover. He turned his gun upon them, shooting 
as he ran. His shots, like theirs went wide of the mark. 

Suddenly, before any one could divine his intention, 
he seized little Paul, holding him up before him, with a 
demoniacal laugh. 

“Fire!” he shouted, “the boy’ll be your target. In 
the moment they paused to consult as to how to proceed 
against this line of defence, Boyd suddenly wheeled 
about, and, still clutching the screaming child, sprinted 


FORGET ME—IF YOU CAN 301 

at a mad pace into the thick underbrush that lay to the 
right of them. 

Adjacent, was an unused mine,—every man of them 
realized he was heading for that. If he plunged into it, 
taking the lad with him, it would mean instant death 
for both. 

Daniel Weslow saw with horror and realized, before 
any one else did, what Boyd, the fiend incarnate, con¬ 
templated. 

He knew that old mine better than anyone else did 
In earlier days he had worked in it,—later, owned it. 
In abandoning it, he had had it boarded over—but the 
years since then, and the storms had rendered the cover¬ 
ing insecure. The city had taken over the mine long 
since, but had neglected to safeguard it. 

Weslow saw by each turn Boyd made in the tangled- 
wood, he was surely making for the old, abandoned 
mine. “A truce!” he shouted. Halt! and make 
terms!” 

Boyd flung back a volley of imprecations at his pur¬ 
suers. 

They dared not use their guns on account of the 
boy. 

“You’ll never take me—alive!” Boyd shouted back 
at them. “Your promises are all lies;—You’ve got me, 
but I’ll die game. Ha, ha, Weslow, her boy goes with 
me.” 

As he uttered the words, he reached the mouth of the 
yawning pit. The pursuing mob was now scarcely half 
a dozen rods away, headed by Weslow, who was shouting 
to Boyd he could name his own price to surrender-— 


302 


WOODEN WIVES 


with the boy. His freedom should be purchased with 
his entire fortune—if need be.” 

Boyd heard, shrieking back at Weslow that revenge 
was sweet—and he was playing his last trump. 

Onward dashed the police in close pursuit. Only a 
second of time did Boyd waste in noting this, then, with 
the struggling, screaming, frantic child clutched tightly 
in his arms, he made the fatal plunge down into the 
depths of the old mine. Every man among the pur¬ 
suers grew pale to the lips; they halted, looking mutely 
into each others face. Weslow was frantic with grief. 
‘ ‘ Ten thousand dollars to the man who will go down and 
recover the boy—alive—or dead!” he shouted. “Aye, 
I will double, quadruple it;—I will make the man 
wealthy for life. Which one of you will go down!” 

He knew that almost to a man, each one of them had 
been employed in the mine in earlier days; they knew 
no fear. 

“It would be as much as our lives are worth, boss,” 
they answered, addressing him by the old title. “The 
vents have been choked up for years,—no man could 
live two minutes in the foul gasses.” 

“A rope, quick!” commanded Weslow, “I will go 
down myself!” In vain they attempted to dissuade 
him. ‘ 1 Get the rope! ” he repeated in a voice which told 
them he would brook no interference. 

A heavy rope, and lanterns were brought with 
alacrity. He had not an instant to lose in testing the 
strength of it to determine if it would bear the weight 
of the boy and himself. 

Silently they adjusted it, shuddering, and almost cry- 


FORGET ME—IF YOU CAN 


303 


ing with fear as he was lowered into the yawning, inky 
darkness, disappearing down the full length of the 
stanch rope, until even the lantern became but a mere 
speck, disappearing altogether from their strained gaze. 

At that moment a messenger from the hotel came 
hastily toward them. “The young woman has regained 
consciousness, and is calling for her boy,” he said, look¬ 
ing around and about him; I do not see a little boy,— 
where is he?” 

The men looked at each other, one of them whispered 
in the man’s ear: “Tell her the little fellow is coming; 
he will be there presently. Keep telling her that,—and 
tell the doctor who is with her, the men out on the sands 
would have him know—something has happened to the 
boy;—and it is wisest and best to give the poor mother 
a sleeping potion so she will not know for the next hour 
or so—what is transpiring.” 

That was the message the man took back to the doctor 
who was bending over Pauline, assuring her her boy 
would be placed in her arms directly. He gave her the 
sleeping potion, relieved when he saw her sink into a 
deep, peaceful slumber. It so happened that the doctor 
who responded to the hasty summons was—Doctor 
Northby. His amazement at meeting the girl he had so 
loved in the past, and to whose memory he had always 
been true, can better be imagined than described. 

He saw that the fair young mother who had departed 
from his sister’s home, with her baby in her arms, leav* 
ing no trace behind her, was more beautiful than ever, 
and his honest heart warmed anew to her. 

He was puzzled and somewhat alarmed at the strange 


304 


WOODEN WIVES 


message he had received regarding the boy. Had he 
strayed away?—he was most anxious to see him again; 
as an infant, he had loved him for his dear young, 
hapless mother's sake. A middle aged nurse had been 
assigned to look after Pauline. She wondered why the 
grave handsome doctor stood so long by the sofa on 
which his patient lay, sleeping so calmly. She saw no 
cause for him to remain, but was too wise to let him 
know she noticed it. 

“A pretty young widow, even if she is encumbered 
with a young one,, can get a single doctor away from us 
spinsters, every time," she ruminated. 

Leaving his patient in charge of the nurse which the 
hotel provided for emergencies, Dr. Northby started out 
to investigate the message concerning the boy. Attract¬ 
ed by the crowd of men, he was soon with the others at 
the mouth of the mine. He quickly learned the cause 
of the intense excitement. Thus ran the story, from lip 
to lip as it was related to him:—“The Mary Ann, a 
dare-devil, boot-legging craft, the most dangerous, as to 
Captain, and reckless crew that ever sailed western 
waters, was suddenly destroyed by the bursting of a 
bomb which they probably had on board;—The captain, 
who was hurrying along the sands with the intention of 
boarding her, suddenly ran afoul of a man walking 
leisurely along,—that man was, Daniel Weslow, the 
great Alaskan multi-millionaire who recognized, in some 
manner, the desperate boot-legger, and ordered him to 
surrender to the law;—According to the laborers who 
came running from their work, terrorized over the ex¬ 
plosion,—they saw the two men engage in a hand to 


FORGET ME—IF YOU CAN 


305 


hand battle. The boot-legger captain was getting the 
worst of it, when suddenly, breaking from his antagon¬ 
ist’s hold, he seized a little boy who had been playing 
on the sand, and, holding the urchin between him and 
Weslow, that he might not attempt to use a gun, if he 
had one,—made for the deserted mine. As the crowd, 
who had recognized him, was following close at his heels 
with yells owing to a young laborer’s wife whom it was 
known he had enticed away, and who had been seen on 
the Mary Ann. The boot-legger Captain knew if they 
were to lay hands on him, they’d lynch him on the spot. 
Then on came the police dashing like a whirlwind. Be¬ 
fore any one could utter a cry,—still holding tightly on 
to the unfortunate child, and flinging back a taunting 
demaniac laugh, the boot-legger cleared the broken rails 
of the mine with a single bound, plunging, with his 
unfortunate victim, to death in the bottom of the shaft. 
The men went on to tell how the great multi-millionaire, 
Weslow, who had been walking on the sands, had offered 
a fortune to the man who would risk his life to go down 
to recover the child—what was left of him. As no one 
would venture, he called for a rope, and had just been 
lowered himself. 

Dr. Northby was greatly affected;—he felt intuitively 
who the boy was, who had fallen a victim to the captain. 
How was the story to be unfolded,—and by whom,—to 
the hapless mother when she should awaken from her 
sleep. He knew that might be at any moment now,— 
He wished to Heaven he had given her a larger portion. 

He was distressed beyond measure that his friend, 
Daniel Weslow, had gone down. He was thankful to be 


306 


WOODEN WIVES 


on the spot If lie should be drawn up In a dying condi¬ 
tion,—to save him if it lay within mortal power. 

He dispatched a messenger to the hotel for his medi¬ 
cine case, and awaited results, with the rest of them, 
at the mouth of the yawning pit. 

4 ‘The rope is not—strong enough,” he heard the men 
whisper, the one to the other;—‘ ‘ it is creaking,—strain¬ 
ing ;—the man who has gone down is no light weight,’ ? — 
Dr. Northby could only watch—and—wait. 

Soon he noticed a commotion among the crowd about 
him. Looking up, he saw that it was caused by a 
woman hurrying toward them over the sands. 

“It is—the—mother ! She has come to search for— 
her—boy!” they whispered pityingly, “while some 
added under their breath, “God pity her!” 

Dr. Northby knew it was—Lena, (as he still called 
her, knowing no other name)—and hurried toward her. 

She recognized him at once. She did not stop to 
think, or wonder at his being away off in the west, but 
commenced to tell him incoherently about her little son 
—a boy of nearly eight now,—who had been playing on 
the sands, and picking up what he supposed was a nice 
big ball, he had thrown it out to sea;—it proved to be 
a bomb,—destroying a tug-boat lying at anchor close by. 
She had just reached her boy, who was terrorized by 
fright, clasping him in her arms—when she lost con¬ 
sciousness. 

“Wont you come with me, Dr. Northby, and help me 
look for my little son?” she pleaded eagerly. “The 
hour is late—he is not used to being out at this time— 
alone.” 



FORGET ME—IF YOU CAN 


307 


“Yes,” he answered, “I will look for him, but I 
would ask that you go back to the hotel and wait for— 
us—there.” 

She shook her head emphatically. “No! no! I must 
search too! Wherever he is, even if he has fallen asleep 
somewhere, he will hear my voice and come running to 
me!” At that moment she espied the large erowd. 
Catching his arm with a pitiful cry, she looked up, with 
terror into his face. 

“They—are—gathered—around something!—what is 
it! ” she wailed in awful fear. ‘ ‘ Come with me—it 
might be—” The rest of the sentence was drowned in 
the most piteous cry that ever broke from human lips, 
“Oh, my baby! mother’s little Paul! my darling, my— 
all!” 

Dr. Northby could only look at her mutely; he dared 
not tell her the truth. 


CHAPTER XXX 


WHEN LOVE PLEADS 

“Forgive me, gentle heart, but while 

You’ve bravely worked, I’ve been reflecting 
That somewhere in this world of guile 

There’s some one’s life needs your correcting.” 

For an instant, as Daniel Weslow felt himself swung 
over the ledge of the old, deserted mine, with the rope 
about him, he realized the peril of his undertaking, but 
his staunch courage did not fail him; he grasped the 
rope and lantern tighter as he was whirled through 
space down into the dark abyss. 

It seemed to him long, torturous hours were consumed 
in making the descent, but in reality it took but a few 
moments. 

It was the deepest, as well as the oldest mine;—he 
knew every foot of it, from the top, hundreds of feet, 
to the miry bottom; there were three landings, as they 
called the shelving rocks that jutted out at irregular dis¬ 
tances, though often they had threatened to demolish the 
cages which swung against them in going down, or com¬ 
ing up. 

A prayer which ended in a sob trembled on his lips 
that they had not gone to the bottom,—which only God 
could have prevented. 

He swung his lantern about, trying to peer into the 
dense darkness below. Its rays cast wierd shadows on 

308 


WHEN LOVE PLEADS 


309 


the mouldering walls, the vapors blurring his sight. He 
called the boy’s name again, and yet again, but no 
answer came to him through the death-like silence save 
the vibration of his own hoarse voice—which sounded 
strangely mocking, as echoes of voices always do. 

Suddenly he felt a jar, his feet had struck a wide 
ledge of rock;—the one nearest the surface some sixty 
feet down. He raised his lantern aloft, peering about 
him. To his surprise he saw that the few twigs he had 
remembered being there, had, in the years the mine had 
been abandoned, grown into great gnarled ropes of 
twisted branches, and, upon it, the objects of his search, 
—Boyd, and the boy. 

It was by a miracle Boyd had caught it in his descent; 
—the boy lay unconscious at his feet. 

A great cry of thankfulness rose to Daniel Weslow’s 
lips;—a cry which Boyd misinterpreted as one of rage. 

“So! you have risked much to capture me!” he 
shouted, “but you’ll never get me alive;—move one step 
forward, and I hurl the boy to the bottom, following,— 
myself;—I know the crowd is waiting for me,—up 
there.” 

“Listen—and heed my words!” said Daniel hoarsely, 
speaking with a degree of calmness by a mighty effort. 
“I came down to find the boy,—to bring him up alive 
or—dead. And—” 

“Instead,” shrieked Boyd, “you encounter— me; and 
we are going to have it out, you and I—here and now; 
—nothing can save you from me. If I go to the bottom 
—you go with me, Weslow.—The boy blazing the trail 
for us.” 


310 


WOODEN WIVES 


4 ‘ This is no time, or place to renew strife—three lives 
at stake/’ returned Daniel hoarsely. “With the deadly 
vapor about us, telling upon us with each instant,—for 
God's sake let us temporize!" 

A horrible laugh broke from Boyd’s lips; he reached 
suddenly for his hip pocket;—Daniel believed the action 
meant death for him;—instead, Boyd drew forth a flask, 
emptying what remained in it at a single draught— 
throwing the empty bottle with terrific force, aimed at 
Weslow’s face. 

In the flickering light from the lantern he missed his 
aim by a hairbreadth, and they both heard it strike bot¬ 
tom with a faint, far off: thud. 

“Let us temporize," shouted Daniel, beginning to feel 
the deadly effects of the poisonous gasses, “Let us save 
the boy, after that—it will not matter to me what hap¬ 
pens. You should be more anxious than I—to save the 
life of your own —child whom I—have risked my life 
—to rescue. Let me make a proposition to you;—let 
us tie the rope about the boy—and send him up to 
safety; another monent—and his poor little life may pay 
the price of the delay. After he is out of the way,—it 
shall be as you say,—we will settle our account—the 
best man winning." As he spoke, he unfastened the 
rope from his waist. 

Boyd laughed, “Well, I’ll let the brat go up, as long 
as you are down here with me;—attend to him quickly 
before I change my mind, and take him to the bottom 
where both of us are going to go." 

As Daniel stooped to grasp the boy, with horrible 
cunning, Boyd leaned forward dealing his adversary a 


WHEN LOVE PLEADS 


311 


heavy blow in the face, which he had intended should 
knock him from the ledge, down into the abyss below. 

Daniel was stunned, but by superhuman effort re¬ 
gained both his slipping senses, and his slipping feet 
as well—remarking gaspingly, but with a degree of 
forced calmness:—“You can have it out with me—after 
we have sent up—YOUR—son!” 

As quickly as his stiffening fingers could command 
themselves, he fastened the rope about the form of little 
Paul—so securely the knot could not slip and gave the 
rope the heavy twitch which had been agreed upon as 
the signal to be hoisted up, his heart nearly leaping from 
his body with anguish and suspense as he swung the boy 
into space. 

His action had not been an instant too soon. Lunging 
forward, Boyd shrieked out fiercely:— 

“I’ve changed my mind! He goes down with us!” 

“You are too late to inflict your inhuman decision 
upon your innocent offspring, you demon!—Now for it! 
—It’s either your life—or mine, Boyd;—I’ve a long 
and bitter account to settle with you—and down here, 
in the bowels of the earth, we will fight to a finish;—it 
will be either your life—or mine;—we may die—to¬ 
gether!” 

Daniel waited long enough to see the little form disap¬ 
pear upward, out of the vision of his lantern, then he 
turned and faced the wretch who had ruined his life,— 
broken up his home,—crushed his heart, blighted all 
that was worth living for. 

It was the wildest, bitterest, most frightful battle for 
supremacy that was even fought; it was a battle for 


312 


WOODEN WIVES 


life—or—death. At length it ended suddenly by Boyd’s 
foot slipping in the slime, and he fell to his knees, with 
Daniel, standing, like an avenging nemesis, bending over 
him. 

“You’ve—won!—give me a kick and send me whirl¬ 
ing down,” gasped Boyd. He wondered vaguely why 
Daniel Weslow did not seize his opportunity—and com¬ 
ply. At that moment, the rope, which had been sent 
down again, swept Daniel’s shoulder. 

Boyd could hardly believe his ears when he heard his 
enemy say:—“I’ll not send you down to the death you 
deserve, Boyd;—I’m going to—save you;—not for your 
own sake, for there is no punishment too severe for you 
to receive at my hands;—I’m going to save you—for 
the woman who loves you,—loves you so well she for¬ 
sook husband and home to follow your miserable for¬ 
tunes, and—for the reason greater still,—because you 
are the father of—her—child.” 

With hands that trembled from growing weakness 
from the poisonous gasses slowly overpowering him 
Daniel Weslow adjusted the rope about the man who 
had wronged him so deeply, and swung him over the 
ledge. He heard the creaking of the rope as those from 
above drew him upward. 

He realized it would be five minutes of time ere the 
rope could descend again;—his breath,—and life,—could 
not last that long. 

His strength from the strenuous encounter, had be¬ 
come impaired, he had not that to bank now. He sunk 
to his knees, his throbbing head fell upon them. He was 
losing power to think. Suddenly through his dazed 


WHEN LOVE PLEADS 313 

brain came the remembrance of the promise he had 
made to little Paul:— 

“When my life is drifting out, and I am leaving this 
world,—my last thought will be of you. I will say to 
God:—watch over—and guard poor little—Paul,—the 
lad I have loved—and—died for.” 

Was it only his fancy, or, did something red come 
flashing down through the inky darkness, slowly pass¬ 
ing him. 

He realized it was the rope again, with another lan¬ 
tern attached to it. By a superhuman effort he aroused 
himself. He had been content to die there, but he under¬ 
stood, God seemed to will it otherwise. 

With shaking hands he grasped the rope, and adjusted 
it about his body. As he swung off into space, he real¬ 
ized something was terribly wrong; the knot—was— 
slipping. 

Upward, inch by inch,—it seemed to take an eternity 
of time,—the rope with its human burden was being 
drawn upward. The strain upon the treacherous rope 
and the more treacherous knot was apparent in the 
straining and creaking. 

It seemed the length of years to Daniel Weslow until 
he saw the blue sky like a tiny speck above him, in the 
semi-darkness of the starlit night. Each wrench of the 
rope meant nearer to life and the world. 

There was another slip of the knot; Daniel felt it 
slowly by surely,—giving way,—he knew what it meant, 
and clinched his stiff bleeding fingers about the rope. 
He was within a few feet of the top, now, he could dis- 


314 


WOODEN WIVES 


tinguish white agonized faces, but, Father in Heaven, 
his strength seemed to fail him. 

They noticed the twitching of the rope, and seemed 
to realize at once, the cause of it. 

“Holt tight !” they shouted, “a little more courage— 
and you are safe!” 

Another moment that seemed the length of eternity, 
and his right hand loosened its hold, his paralyzed right 
arm fell heavily to his side. 

He heard cries which were instantly suppressed, 
then— 

Had God forsaken him ?—his ieft hand began to slowly 
loosen, he could hold on—no—longer. 

* 4 God! — watch — over — little — Paul! ” he gasped 
faintly. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


WHEN LOVE HAS CONQUERED PRIDE AND ANGER 

“My dearest! If the might 

And tenderness of manly trust 
Can bless thy life, thy love must 
In darkness and in light, 

Forever turn to me, sweetheart, 

Thy goodness to requite.” 

Dr. Northby had done his best to keep the hapless 
mother from rushing to where the crowd had gath¬ 
ered,—at the mouth of the pit; it was useless; wrench¬ 
ing herself free from his detaining hand, she was soon 
in their midst. She did not notice that they made way 
for her, strong men turning quickly away to hide the 
tears that had sprung to their eyes. 

Dr. Northby had followed closely, again laying a 
detaining hand on her arm. 

“My little boy is not here!” she murmured, turn¬ 
ing away. 

“Do you think you are strong enough to face and 
bear a great sorrow, my poor girl?” he whispered, 
making ready to catch her if she fell unconscious, or 
—dead—because of the words he was forced to speak. 

“A—sorrow!” she repeated, studying his face with 
terror in her eyes. He reached out and caught both of 
her hands in his, steadying her. He saw, that by a 
mighty effort she was pulling herself together, slowly, 
315 


316 


WOODEN WIVES 


“Is it about my—little—Paul?” she whispered in a 
strained voice. He nodded, holding her death-cold 
hands tighter. 

“Tell me quickly,” she moaned, “quickly, while I 
have the strength to bear it; suspense is killing me.” 

Dr. Northby told her gently, the boy had fallen in¬ 
to a shallow part of the mine, and a heroic man had 
gone down to fetch him up. 

She did not faint, or cry, or utter any moan as he 
had expected,—but stood before him like a statue 
carved in marble, incapable of speech or action;—he 
read the agony she was enduring, in her eyes, which 
had not, for an instant, left his sorrowful face. 

“If my little boy does not come up,—mother will go 
down to him,” she said, more to herself than to the 
doctor. She saw the rope in the hands of the stalwart 
men, and hurriedly crossed to them. 

“Let me go down,—too!” she entreated. 

“Certainly,—very—shortly,” returned one of the 
men, looking knowingly at the crowd. The words 
sounded reassuring, as though there was no danger to 
speak of; she did not know what an effort it cost 
him to utter them,—and so carelessly. 

She sunk on her knees beside the pit, Dr. Northby 
at her side,—watching. 

What words can describe the anxiety of Pauline as 
she heard the men at the rope exclaim:—“The weight 
is so light—it must be—the boy!—he has made sure 
of his safety—first.” 

A mighty shout echoed over the sands, and far out 
over the water, as the little tousled head appeared, at 


WHEN LOVE HAS CONQUERED PRIDE AND ANGER 317 

arm’s length. The current of pure air was reviving 
him, he began to cry faintly. 

Pauline heard the cry,—she knew he— lived. Her 
heart leaped in her bosom. 

Strong, glad hands reached for him, lifted him over 
the ledge; another instant and he was in his mother’s 
arms,—warm, living—unhurt. 

Those gathered about her never forgot how she fell 
on her knees, thanking God—for the gift of her boy, 
to her. 

It was with difficulty the men unfastened the rope 
from about little Paul, to send it down again, she held 
him clasped so closely. Dr. Northby was deeply af¬ 
fected as he watched. 

She sat down by the edge of the mine, still holding 
her boy close, waiting to thank the stranger, with her 
heart in her words, for what he had done for the lad— 
and herself, when he should be drawn up. 

She heard the men whisper ominously of the great 
strain on the rope; she heard it creak, and, on her 
knees among those rough, but kind hearted men, she 
prayed for the stranger’s safety, each one, to a man, 
joining in, praying as they had never prayed before, 
tears falling like rain down their rough, toil-begrimed 
faces. 

A score of strong hands bent to the task of lifting 
the heavy burden over the ledge to safety. In an in¬ 
stant the prayers turned to wild curses as they saw 
the man whom they had drawn to safety, was—the 
Boot-legger Captain!—the rascal who had lured the 
young wife of one of their number astray. With one 


318 


WOODEN WIVES 


accord they were for pitching him headforemost back 
into the mine to die. Dr. Northby, who was bending 
over him, held up his hand, enjoining silence, even 
though the man had not lost consciousness. 

“He is about to pass before a higher tribunal than 
that of men; he has hit his head against a jutting rock, 
and is done for,—‘vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.* 
—Let him die—in—peace; he has but a few moments 
at best—to—live.” 

They made the dazed Pauline understand —two men 
were down in the mine;—they had pulled up the 
wrong man. 

They laid him down so near Pauline she could have 
put out her hand and touched him. He was not uncon¬ 
scious;—he had heard the doctor’s words. 

Raising his eyes with an effort—he beheld Pauline, 
and shuddered, whispering, “I—would have a few 
moments alone with her, men, I have a confession to 
make—to her.—Send the rope—and a lantern down 
quick again,—if you would save a worthier life than 
mine.” 

The rope was quickly jerked from about Boyd, and 
lowered again, with increasing anxiety. There was 
not a man among that crowd of laborers who had not 
had a kindly word, and many of them a helping'hand 
from Daniel Weslow, and they loved him as a brother. 

The crowd, to a man,—all save Dr. Northby, left- 
Boyd free to speak to Pauline, as he desired. 

“I have been your evil genius,” he whispered, 
brokenly, “but in this, my last moments on earth,— 
forgive me. 


WHEN LOVE HAS CONQUERED PRIDE AND ANGER 319 

I was a defaulter,—thief, roue,—all that was bad 
when I first met you;—I wanted your wealth, there 
was no love in my heart then. I vowed vengeance 
upon Weslow when he gained what I had plotted and 
planned for, only to lose. 

“ Reardon, Weslow’s enemy, was a willing ally to 
aid me in my scheme to ruin the man you married, 
part you from him. I succeeded, Reardon drawing 
the papers which gave to me—your fortune, all of 
which I quickly squandered. Reardon, who was a 
train hold-up man out West, had a scheme to throw 
the guilt upon your husband, by slipping the spoils 
of a daring robbery—in which your father was a vic¬ 
tim,—into Weslow ’a pocket while he stood beside him, 
as he was making a farewell speech ere going to 
Washington. This he accomplished. He meant to cry 
out—thief! and demand that the police—should search 
every one—and Weslow—tho’ innocent would be 

found to have the goods—and—and-” 

He got no further, his white lips moved, but no sound 
issued from them—He had paid the great debt. Pass¬ 
ing from the anger of man—to face the anger of a 
Higher Power. 

Pauline’s tears fell like rain onto the face of the 
wondering boy she clasped so closely. 

Daniel was innocent !—innocent of the dreadful crime 
she had suspected him of; how she thanked her God that 
he never knew of what she accused him—in her 
suspicions. 

It would have cut him to the heart. He had been 
from first to last,—honest, loving—and true. Oh, the 


320 


WOODEN WIVES 


pity of it, that she had misjudged so noble a man—little 
Paul’s father—so unjustly, so cruelly. 

As Dr. Northby listened, he became astounded, for 
he learned in that moment this fair sweet woman—was 
the wife of his friend—Daniel Weslow. The young wife 
from whom he had become estranged—whom he believed 
had died in the wreck of the midnight Washington Ex¬ 
press. In as few words as he could command, he told 
Pauline of the last treacherous act of the man lying dead 
at her feet, how he had leaped down into the mine 
carrying the boy with him. He unfolded to her the 
amazing news that Weslow, who was in San Francisco, 
and was at that moment on the sands, beholding the 
maniacal act, had leaped down into the mine after him, 
to save the boy, or—perish in the attempt;—adding, that 
it was—Weslow,—her husband—Daniel whom they were 
hoisting up. 

To Pauline, the news was so overpowering, she lost 
consciousness, still clasping little Paul in her arms. At 
that moment he beheld two elderly women hurrying 
toward them over the sands. They proved to be Granny, 
who had come in search of Lena and the boy,—and Mrs. 
Bemis, who had but just arrived, and, standing at the 
hotel desk had overheard Granny’s inquiries for her 
loved and lost ones, and offered to aid her in her search 
for them. 

Mrs. Bemis had come on to San Francisco in obedi¬ 
ence to Daniel’s earnest request, to be present at his 
forth-coming wedding to Marcelle, not knowing how 
intensely she disliked the French beauty. Mrs. Bemis 
cherished a secret hope ever since she had heard about 


WHEN LOVE HAS CONQUERED PRIDE AND ANGER 321 

it, and that was, to try to talk him out of it at the 
eleventh hour — if it were possible. 

“To describe Mrs. Bemis’s amazement when she and 
Granny came face to face with Pauline—Pauline in the 
flesh, surely,—and the pretty lad who was Daniel all 
over again, as she remembered him in his childhood,— 
is most difficult to accomplish. 

Mrs. Bemis’s agony was intense when she heard it 
was her Daniel who was being brought up on the creak¬ 
ing rope that had been lowered for him. 

She heard them whisper the knot had slipped, and he 
must be holding on with cut and bleeding hands. This 
terrified her. She was glad, as was all, that Pauline 
was being carried to the hotel unconscious. They would 
soon know Daniel’s fate now,—whether it would be— 
life,—or,—if death was the price he had paid for saving 
the boy. 

Meanwhile, Dr. Northby watched with bated breath 
at the mouth of the pit. Not a sound broke from the 
lips of the white faced men who bent to the rope—only 
their labored breathing broke the awful stillness. There 
was a quick simultaneous cry as Daniel’s head reached 
the level of the opening, for at that instant the rope 
slipped from his hand. 

Strong arms, like a flash gripped him, and he was 
drawn quickly up, and onto the sands. In an instant 
Dr. Northby was kneeling beside him. 

Daniel had not lost consciousness, despite the awful 
strain upon nerves and body. He was able to walk to 
the hotel with the doctor’s aid. Their progress was 
slow; Dr. Northby was glad this was so, he had so much 


322 


WOODEN WIVES 


to unfold to him. Daniel Weslow listened like one in 
a dream;—his Pauline had NOT eloped with Boyd, that, 
from the wreck she had been brought directly to North- 
by’s sister’s home, where after some months of illness, 
her boy was born—Dr. Northby himself,—attending her. 
He told Daniel of how she and her baby had come alone 
to San Francisco, where she had lived with a kindly old 
widow ever since. Boyd having no part in her life, not 
knowing she had survived the wreck. 

‘‘You do not seem to comprehend the importance of 
all this, Weslow!” he exclaimed, slapping his friend 
heartily on the back, “the little fellow whom you have 
been so wonderfully interested in,—even to the point of 
arranging to adopt —is your OWN SON —Mrs. Weslow’s 
—and—YOURS. 

The effect of this disclosure was magical to Daniel. 

“Where is—my—wife—and my little boy!—take me 
to them,” he whispered hoarsely, unsteadily, clutching 
Northby’s arm. 

Pauline and the boy were sitting in one of the little 
private parlors of the hotel, talking to Granny and Mrs. 
Bemis when they entered. The doctor beckoned the two 
women from the room, they obeyed with alacrity, mak¬ 
ing their exit from the nearest door. 

Daniel stood quite still on the threshold, his heart in 
his eyes, regarding Pauline—and little Paul. Speech 
seemed to have suddenly left him. Pauline rose to her 
feet with a little cry regarding him timidly, while little 
Paul looked from the one to the other with round, 
wondering eyes — whispering — “Muzzy — there’s — 
daddy!” 


WHEN LOVE HAS CONQUERED PRIDE AND ANGER 323 

Daniel raised his arms slowly, and Pauline, with a 
little sob rushed into them, burying her face on her hus¬ 
band’s faithful breast. Then he looked about for the 
one other being who made up his world, little Paul. 

He was nowhere in sight. They began a frantic search 
for him, in the midst of it,—a very familiar voice piped 
out from behind the lace curtains behind which he had 
been hiding, watching all that was taking place:— 
‘‘Ain’t I goin’ t’ be your little boy any more?” 

Daniel Weslow caught him in his left arm, straining 
him to his heart,—while his right held Pauline in an 
equally close embrace:— 

“Yes, Sonny, my little man,—it’s not playing daddy 
now; I’m your real daddy, to be loved by you, and your 
ma,.forever more.” 

Mrs. Bemis lost no time in hurrying to Marcelle’s 
apartment, and acquainting her with the wonderful 
news about Pauline being alive—and in that very 
hotel; of Daniel’s meeting with her, and their joyful 
reunion. 

“You see, madame, that means that the wedding 
you contemplated with Mr. Daniel—is off. We are all 
going back to Oklahoma City to live. Oh, I had for¬ 
gotten to tell you, they have a fine sturdy little son— 
Paul. Daniel’s and Pauline’s—we are all going back 
home, taking dear old Grandma along with us:—we 
will be the happiest family the world holds.” 

“Stop!” commanded Mareelle, “I will hear no 
more, I take the next out-going steamer to—Paris;— 
tell them that;—also, that I shall wed a very old but 
wealthy man;—next to love, gold is sweet. I was mad 


324 


WOODEN WIVES 


to leave gay Paree to follow the fortunes of a man 
who did not care.” 

Mrs. Bemis soon reported all that Marcelle had told 
her to Pauline. 11 There is one thing I want to say to 
you, my dear,” she said, raising a warning finger,— 
“Love your husband as he deserves, and yearns to be 
loved:—while I approve of Marble Maids,—I do not 
approve of WOODEN WIVES.—More often than not 
—they are responsible for—philandering husbands.” 


THE END. 









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